


At Your Convenience

by Awakening5



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Knowing me, Late Night Conversations, Meeting Again After High School, Mutual Pining, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Post-High School, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Smut, probably, saved by the spidey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26097631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awakening5/pseuds/Awakening5
Summary: Michelle always felt a little left out when she hadn't been part of the Spider-Man rescue in D.C. Years later, when she returns to New York and needs to be saved, she realizes that the danger isn't all it's cracked up to be.Then again, she gets to meet Spider-Man again. So that's nice.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 126
Kudos: 193





	1. Held Up

**Author's Note:**

> I think I might be incapable of writing established relationship fics, because I'm struggling with part 2 of my BlackCat!MJ story. Instead, I've fallen in love with another trope that we've gotten a lot lately. Meeting again after High School. Only, I thought I'd play it a little differently. Peter isn't the one MJ runs into.

When Michelle graduated a year early from Harvard and got accepted at ESU's prestigious Law School, she'd thought she was doing alright in life. Just a month later, working a late shift at a crappy convenience store _Joe's_ , with a gun pointed in her face, she thought she might have to rethink her opinion on herself.

"Did you dial 911?" the man asked her, voice angry. He wore a lizard mask. Michelle hadn't been in New York for the near-pandemic two years ago that threatened to turn the city into lizard people, but she'd certainly heard about it. He turned his gun sideways, which Michelle thought meant he wasn't well-trained with the thing. That made her more nervous. She tapped the End Call button in her sweater pocket.

"No," she lied quietly. The thud of her heart might have even drowned out her voice. Then to stall for just enough time for her screen to change from the phone call, she added. "I can pull my phone out and show you if you want."

He jabbed his gun at her, as if it was a universal sign of agreement. She pulled out her phone, hoping she was pressing in the right places to bring up her Instagram app. When she showed him the screen, there was a picture of Harry Osborn. Her ex.

She really should unfollow him. She knew it wasn't healthy. But moving back to New York was scary, and it was nice to have _some_ connection to her people of the last three years.

Also, now _really_ wasn't the time to be thinking about this. The gunman reached for her phone, and she instinctively hit the power button before he snatched it out of her hand. She knew she was only adding seconds to the time before he got the phone unlocked and looked at her call history, but who knew? Maybe a siren would sound in those seconds and scare the man off. Maybe the police could actually sav—

A strange sound, then, and before Michelle could blink the masked man's gun was pulled from his hands by another masked man. _The_ masked man. The Spider-Man.

"I know the sewers aren't the _greatest_ place in the world, Lizard," Spider-Man quipped, "But I promise it would have been better than a jail cell."

And just like that, the would-be robber was launched by a powerful web against the wall fifteen feet to the back of the store, where it stuck him next to the Diet Coke and Powerade. He moaned, and his head dipped in unconsciousness.

Michelle, still not quite breathing, turned to the superhero, who stood in the doorway. His mechanical eyes seemed to widen at the sight of her, and he stilled, hand on the handle of the swinging door.

"Oh my god, M—" he coughed. Then continued, in a hesitant voice. "Oh my god, ma'am, are you okay?"

Michelle thought his reaction a little strange, but admittedly, her mind wasn't firing on all cylinders. "Yeah," she breathed out at last, and she was shocked at just how fast her heart was racing. "Just realizing how lame guns are. Especially when they're pointed at you."

He let out a light laugh, and stepped into her store.

"What are you..." he stopped himself again. "Did he hurt you? Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine, thanks," she said, and stepped out from behind the counter. She grabbed a candybar—it didn't matter what one—and ripped it open. "I think I deserve this, though. Don't you?"

He laughed louder this time. And something seemed to shift in his posture. Michelle didn't realize how tense he'd been until now that he relaxed.

"Definitely. That 911 call was really smart and brave."

Michelle hadn't meant that she'd earned a candy bar with that action, but didn't feel it necessary to correct Spider-Man. "You working with the police now?" she asked, curious how he got the call.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Not...I mean...if you could just leave out that I heard the phone call in your report to them, that would probably be best. The police don't hate me...but that would still be illegal, y'know?"

"Don't worry, dude," she said, biting into her Snickers—she only now noticed that's what she was eating—and waving a hand at him. "You just saved my life. The least I can do is not snitch."

"Thanks," he said, as if he hadn't done the thing deserving thanks.

"It's kind of nice to finally be saved by you, actually," she said.

He tilted his head in confusion. She was grateful for the exaggerated body language. She wondered if he was like that without the mask, too, or if he'd developed it to communicate better while costumed.

"You saved my friends in D.C. several years ago," she explained to him. "At the time, I was grateful not to be in the elevator. But I've also always felt like I missed out a little."

He nodded slowly in remembrance or understanding or _something_. Exaggerated body language still wasn't enough to get a _great_ read on the guy. "School field trip, yeah?" he asked. Michelle was amazed. How many people had he saved over the years, and he remembered this one?

"Good memory—though less of a field trip and more of a school competition. I'm impressed, though."

He shuffled, either embarrassed or nervous. "Easy to remember the details of Washington," he said. "Here in New York, everything blends together."

Michelle laughed, remembering how much that Washington trip had fueled her conspiracy. "Oh my god, Spidey, you being in Washington had me _convinced_ you were one of my classmates."

He froze. " _Really?_ " he asked, and his voice seemed higher now.

But Michelle couldn't read the guy anymore, and could only reflect on the memory fondly. "Yeah—he went to Washington with us, but was inexplicably gone the day you saved us, and I had this crazy theory because he dropped a ton of extracurriculars and had this Stark 'internship'," Michelle air quoted with her fingers. "So I thought he was actually you."

She finished her Snickers, and it was only then that she realized how odd this whole situation was. Did Spider-Man _usually_ hang out with the people he saved? Surely he had more important things to do. Maybe not, though. It was late. That was her shift. It paid a little better, and she knew once school started up, it would be the only shift that wouldn't interfere with her classes. And she'd already be in so much fiscal debt, what was a little sleep debt on top of it?

"Yeah, I was just there on Avengers duty," Spider-Man explained quickly. "Washington, I mean. Crazy coincidence, though. New Yorkers visiting on the same day."

Michelle quirked an eyebrow. "I'm sure there are thousands every day," she said. "It thoughts like those that had me deep in conspiracy theories."

"You're not anymore?" he asked, and Michelle thought his voice sounded fond. Odd.

"Not about you. Not since I saw live clips of you while I was with Peter. Figured that particular fantasy was a little too close to home." He didn't immediately respond. She looked at the Snickers wrapper in her hand, and shook her head. "Sorry—here I'm saying _I_ deserved this. Can I get you one?"

He raised his hands and shook his head. "I don't do this to get candy," he said.

"It's not a reward," she said. "Let me show you some gratitude."

He swallowed. "Yeah, okay. You got Resse's?"

"Good choice," she hummed, and reached for the peanut butter cups. She tossed it to him.

"Thank you," he said, catching it. "um...ma'am."

She rolled her eyes. "Am I fifty? Are _you_ fifty?"

He laughed. "No, I imagine we're about the same age. I just don't know what to call you."

"Michelle," she said. Then hesitated. What the hell? Why not? She was back in New York, after all. "No, MJ."

She could _see_ him smile in his mask. It was nice being able to read his body language again. "MJ," he repeated. Fond, again.

Sirens sounded at last, and both of them startled at the noise. "Well...that's my cue," he said, thumb pointing at the exit. "It was really nice seeing you again, MJ."

She smiled. He sounded earnest, despite their prior interaction having lasted all of five seconds, and this one mostly just her blabbing in adrenaline-fueled relief. "You too, Spidey." She got a sudden surge of confidence, sprouting in her chest, growing from his words. "If you ever need a pick-me-up on late nights..."

She left the invitation hanging. He stared at her for a long moment. "You know, I often do. See you around, MJ," he said, and stepped backwards out of her store.

-0-0-0-

"Peter."

"Peter."

Peter blinked a couple of times and shook his head. He looked up from his plate, to see Aunt May with a raised eyebrow and amused smile appraising him.

"Sorry, May," he muttered, before stabbing a meatball he'd been playing with and popping it in his mouth. "Little distracted."

"You think?" she laughed. "What's up?"

Peter loved May. He loved that they made Sunday night dinner a mandatory event. He loved that she was good enough at making spaghetti that they didn't go out to eat at least once a month. And he loved that she'd figured out he was Spider-Man years ago, and he didn't need to hide anything from her.

"Spider-Man ran into an old friend last night," he explained while he twisted noodles around his fork. "Remember Michelle Jones?"

May frowned for a moment. "Is that one of the girls you had a crush on in high school?"

Peter laughed while he stuffed noodles into his mouth, before cutting off his laughter when some sauce flicked onto his white shirt. He should've just worn his red suit for this meal. Less likely to stain.

May dabbed at the sauce with her napkin from across the table, and Peter batted her hand away. "You'll smear it!"

"And you're avoiding the question," May retorted.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I guess I had a crush on her. Sometimes I thought she liked me, too, but it never worked out. I was dating Gwen, and before that she was dating...who was it? Mark, or something? I never really liked him."

May sat back in her chair, content with the red blotch on his shirt, apparently. "So what did you say to her?"

"I couldn't really say anything, could I? I mean, I haven't seen her in three years, and she didn't even know it was me under the mask." He smiled. "Though, apparently, she was suspicious of me back at Midtown. Luckily the Chameleon robberies were going on when I was hanging out with her one day, so she stopped suspecting I was Spider-Man."

May grinned. "You were almost found out!"

"She was observant," Peter defended. He bit into some garlic bread, deciding he couldn't trust the spaghetti while he was distracted by the conversation. "And yeah...I wasn't the best at protecting my identity."

"Wasn't?"

Peter groaned. "No one has found out in...like...over a year now, May. I'm getting better."

"But you want Michelle to find out?" May guessed, and Peter cursed her attentiveness.

"Not _want_ , per se, but I want to go see her again, as Peter, but the timing would be _way_ too suspicious now."

May nodded. "So go back as Spider-Man, and try to get her to contact Peter."

Peter chewed thoughtfully. "She _did_ invite me back," he conceded.

"Oh, did she now?" May waggled her eyebrows. "Maybe you don't need to talk with her as Peter at all then."

Peter blushed. "I don't want to get involved with her as Spider-Man, May! How would that even...work? It's one thing to keep a Superhero identity from someone while we get to know each other and figure things out, but a _real_ identity?"

May shrugged. "None of your other relationships have worked."

"Ouch," Peter said, though had to admit she had a good point. Not that Peter necessarily wanted those relationships to work. And with MJ? What was the harm in visiting again? She hadn't seemed overly awed by Spider-Man. In fact, she reminded him of the old MJ, except more open and free. Was that Spidey's doing, or had she just grown a little since he last saw her?

All Peter knew was that he wanted to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love these set-ups so much. People with history, but not SO much history, meeting up again. And I thought it would be a fun wrinkle to have it be a MJ/Spider-Man relationship before it's a MJ/Peter relationship. Hope you enjoy!


	2. Home

Peter waited a few days before he went back to _Joe's_ convenience store.

Well, he went back every day. He just didn't go _in_ until a few days had passed. It was partly because he didn't want to seem overeager—which he recognized was ludicrous, because he's fucking Spider-Man and he should have more confidence than this. It was also partly because he wanted to check MJ's schedule, and get a better feel for when he'd be able to drop by in the future.

But mostly, Peter was just trying to get out of his own head.

He'd never approached someone as Spider-Man with the express purpose to hang out with them. His interactions with people were more often of the punching, kicking, and incarcerating variety. Would he be awkward standing in the store in spandex and a mask? That sure _sounded_ awkward. What would he do with his hands? Maybe he'd throw on some sweatpants over his suit, with pockets for his hands when he didn't know what to do with them. But then again, sweatpants were an absurd idea, and Peter wasn't quite sure how he could have entertained it for longer than half a second.

So, yeah, he took a few days to get out of his head.

Customers were few and far between at _Joe's_ during this late shift. Which was mostly a good thing. Peter walked into the convenience store, and very casually nodded to Michelle standing behind the counter at the register as he strode past her to the candy bars. She had a hint of a smile and a raised eyebrow as he surveyed his options.

Reese's and a Snickers.

He handed them over to her to scan, which she did wordlessly. "$2.49," she said calmly, as if nothing was the matter.

Peter held his hand to the payment terminal. He'd asked Tony to put a chip in his suit that connected to Peter's bank account. He couldn't exactly carry his wallet. It ruined the lines of his suit.

The payment was accepted. "Snickers or Reese's?" Peter asked, holding up both items for Michelle's inspection.

She smiled widely, rolled her eyes, and reached for the Snickers again. "You gonna actually lift your mask and eat it this time?"

Peter froze, cursing himself for not thinking this through. Would she recognize his face, even just from the nose down? He thought maybe he had changed enough since high school that she wouldn't. But...it really wasn't worth the risk, was it?

Instead, he awkwardly pulled the mask out in front of him enough to snake his hand up, put an entire peanut butter cup in his mouth, and let his mask snap back against his face.

Michelle's eyes lit up with amusement. "You're kidding, right?"

Through the mouthful—and likely spitting some chocolaty, peanut buttery goodness on the inside of his mask—Peter claimed, "There's no wrong way to eat a Reese's."

Michelle snorted in a shockingly attractive way, and shook her head. "Oh my god, Spidey. You're a dork!"

She looked so absolutely delighted at the revelation that Peter didn't even mind being insulted. In fact, he knew it wasn't an insult. She said it fondly, and he felt something stir in his gut, remembering all the times she'd called him a loser without any malice in her tone.

Instead, Peter leaned forward on the table and swallowed his snack. "And what about you," he asked. "What's your story?"

"First of all, are you really implying that we've already gotten to the bottom of you, and 'your story' can be summed up with you being a dork?"

Peter cringed behind his mask. "It's a solid enough start. This is supposed to be a give and take thing."

"Yeah," she nodded. "You give, and I take."

She likely meant nothing like that by her words. Still, Peter felt a weird shock go through him, and his mind went to places it probably shouldn't have. Michelle must have noticed his reaction.

"Ew, Spidey, please tell me you're not a sick-o."

"No, no, no," Peter said, leaning back from the counter and raising his hands. "I didn't mean to...that's not what I think this is—"

"Relax," Michelle appeased. "I'm just messing with you. Besides it's kind of nice to know you're a warm blooded mammal still."

Peter frowned. "What?"

"Well, considering some of the things you can do, _some_ people have wondered if you still...operate the same way."

"Worried I'm off laying eggs?" Peter couldn't help but laugh. Ned had asked him something similar, years ago. Michelle shrugged with a smile. Then Peter remembered, and leaned forward again. "And you say it's kind of nice to know the truth?"

Michelle Jones looked flustered. And Peter reveled in it.

"I liked you better when you were dorky," she scowled at him, but Peter felt the good nature behind her narrowed eyes. If anything, she looked like she'd just accepted a challenge.

"Don't worry," Peter admitted. "I can't pull anything else off for long." She smiled at him and started working at her Snickers wrapper. The silence was more comfortable than it had any right being. Still, Peter filled it. "You still haven't answered my question."

"What's my story?" she repeated, and seemed to ponder it as she took her first bite. "Raised in Queens, just finished my undergrad, and I'm starting Law School at ESU next month, I'm an avid reader, I enjoy a nice protest now and then, and I'm addicted to tea."

It was a lot more information than he was ready for, even if much of it was familiar. "Law School, really?" Peter asked. "I didn't expect that from you."

She scowled. "Why, because I'm working at _Joe's_? Because I'm a woman?"

"What?" Peter exclaimed. "Of course not!" But he couldn't explain himself well without admitting to knowing her. "I just...get a really good vibe from you. And I don't get that from most lawyers."

She softened, and Peter had to remind himself that she didn't _know_ Spider-Man. Not really. "Sorry," she said. "I've gotten a lot of...pushback throughout my life. Either doubters or truly hateful people. I didn't mean to expect the worst of you."

"It's okay. I'm sorry you've had those experiences."

She gave him a wan smile. "Thanks Spidey. But just F.Y.I. there's a lot of good to be done with a law degree. A lot needs to change in this country, and this is as good a place to start as any."

"That's really great, MJ," Peter said. "I can't wait to see what you do."

"I think my first order of business will be to crack down on all these vigilantes running around," she said coyly, effectively shifting the tone of their conversation.

"We _are_ a menace," Peter agreed with a solemn nod.

"So, you've got my story now," she said, leaning back and crossing her arms. "You going to give me more than 'dorky'?"

Peter frowned under his mask. "This is kind of a first for me," he admitted.

"Meeting someone like me?" Michelle deadpanned. "No doubt."

Peter laughed even as he shook his head. But then his Peter Tingle tingled, and he leapt into the air in an instant, securing himself onto the ceiling.

Michelle looked startled, but the customer walking into the convenience store didn't see him.

The man was old, maybe his late sixties. He wore socks and sandals, shorts, and a long-sleeve collared shirt, with the collar bent up at the back. He puttered around the store for a minute, and Michelle kept sneaking glances up at Peter, trying to hold back a smile.

The gentleman picked up Gatorade and beef jerky—the teriyaki flavored, which Peter approved of—and then snagged a box of condoms. Peter swung his head back to see Michelle _really_ struggling to hide her smile now, eyes wide.

The man dropped the items on the counter for Michelle, just a few feet below Peter. "And a pack of those cigarettes," he said in a gravelly voice, pointing behind Michelle. "Light."

She nodded, lips pursed together. Peter stood from his position on the ceiling, just behind the man now, so their heads were about even. Michelle pointedly avoided looking at him while she completed the man's purchase. Peter carefully reached forward and fixed the man's collar with as little pressure as possible, and then crouched back on the ceiling again.

The old man shuffled out of _Joe's_ and off to have some good fun.

Peter dropped back to the floor, and he and Michelle burst out in laughter. "Why would you do that?" Michelle asked.

"Lucky bastard," Peter smirked. "Just wanted to make sure nothing threw off the mood tonight for him."

"If the socks and sandals aren't a turnoff for his partner, I'm sure a bent collar wouldn't have been a deal-breaker."

"I wouldn't know such things," Peter said, only half-joking. It had been...a little while for him. "I'm just glad they're being safe."

"You know, I'm happy for him," Michelle groaned. "But we need to stop talking about this right now."

"Fair enough," Peter grinned. "What were we talking about?"

"You were telling me that I was your first?" MJ quirked her eyebrow. She wanted to make him squirm. Well, he was on to her game. He would resist as long as humanly possible.

"My first time just hanging out with someone," Peter clarified, trying not to sound too defensive. "As Spider-Man, I mean."

She leaned forward onto the table now. "Oh! So this isn't a 24-7 thing, then?"

"Can you imagine me wearing this thing all the time?" Peter asked, and pulled lightly at his suit.

Still leaning forward on the counter, MJ's eyes ran up and down his body. "Yes," she said simply. The tone of her voice implied much. "I can also imagine you without it."

Peter flushed, pleased at her words and the mask covering his reddening face. "Whoa, MJ coming on strong," he tried to joke in a light tone. Even with the slightly deepened voice modulation of his suit, the high pitch of his voice was obvious. 

She smirked. "Don't get any ideas, Tiger. There's a real difference between appreciation and attraction. I'm an artist."

"Is this you asking me to model for you?" Peter asked. "Because I _will_ have to keep at least my mask on."

Michelle's eye glinted. "Oh, Spidey," she said, an overly patronizing voice. "You do know that's the part of you I'm least interested in, right?"

Peter laughed. "So, what, you'll sketch me in nothing but a mask?"

"Of course! Even in my wildest fantasies you're still wearing that mask. I can't even begin to wonder what you look like."

"Take a stab at it," Peter said. "Or tell me about these fantasies."

"You sound like a white guy," she said, ignoring his second request. "Early twenties. Sharp jawline. Brown, curly hair. When you try to grow facial hair, it's a bit of a mess. But you're hopeful it will thicken up one day."

Peter stopped breathing. She was describing _him_. He panicked only for a second that she had confirmed her previous theory. But then he realized she had simply never removed that image from her head. Ever since she'd thought Peter was Spider-Man, that was who she'd pictured.

"That's...pretty close actually," Peter admitted.

Michelle stood back up from her leaning position. "Good," she said, "now I've got vague facial details for when I picture you naked."

"Oh my god," he said with a grin. "I should be offended by you objectifying me."

She frowned. "I can stop, if you—"

"I said I _should_ be offended," Peter clarified. "I'm actually quite flattered."

"You're a fucking Superhero that can bench a bus and runs around in skin-tight spandex," Michelle said, and her eyes travelled his body again. "I suspect you have a strong body image. Really, the fact that anything even flatters you at this point is kind of shocking. Haven't you heard it all?"

Peter shrugged. "I guess...but not usually to my face. The guy under the mask doesn't really hear it, and the guy with the mask doesn't usually, you know, hang out with someone like you."

"Sarcastic? Unfiltered?"

"I do get some of that actually," Peter said. He drew confidence from his mask, from his alias, and from Michelle's own boldness in banter. "No. Smart, pretty, normal, not lethal."

Michelle shifted and became interested in her nails. "You don't know I'm not lethal."

"Fine," Peter laughed. "Uninterested in killing me."

"Jury's still out on that one too, Spidey," she said. "So, the guy under the mask. What's his story, then?"

An image of Gwen came to his mind, unbidden. Because the last time Peter had shared with someone about both sides of him, it hadn't ended well. Peter clenched his fists, and started pacing. He opened his mouth a few times, but no words came out. Then he jumped to the ceiling and started pacing upside down. He had to step to the side with each pace to avoid kicking the hanging light. "I don't really...I don't really talk about myself. It can be dangerous."

He chanced a glance at Michelle, who observed him on the ceiling with a strange look in her eye. "Sounds lonely."

"I've got...people close to me," Peter was quick to say. "Two people. I've got two people." He stopped pacing and faced MJ, albeit upside down. "I've never done this before."

"So you've said. You don't have to talk to me, you know."

"I came back here for a reason," Peter admitted.

Michelle smiled, small enough that Peter wondered if she wanted to hide it from him. "Why?"

"Because even though I don't do this," he said, and awkwardly motioned between he and Michelle. "I think I _want_ to. With you, I mean."

Michelle was quiet for a moment. "So start with something simple. One thing. Something not dangerous."

Peter nodded. "Simple, yeah."

"And come back down here, weirdo."

Peter sheepishly dropped back to the ground. He rubbed at the back of his neck. "I go to ESU, too," he told her. "Though, I probably won't be graduated for a few years. Spider-Man makes it tough on me to go to school full-time."

Michelle's eyes widened. "I might see you on campus then, and not even know it." Then she frowned. "But you would know it."

Peter looked at his feet. "Yeah...that makes this a little strange."

She shrugged. "I guess that's part of this whole thing, huh? Being friends with you?"

"Being a friend of Spider-Man isn't always easy," Peter conceded. His stomach twisted. "I won't blame you if you don't want me coming back around."

"No, I do," she said, and Peter felt like a slab of concrete had been lifted off his shoulders. "It's just...I don't do this much either," she said, and made the same silly hand motion between the two of them. "I came back to New York a month ago and _still_ haven't reached out to my old friends. A couple even go to ESU."

Peter wondered if she meant _him_. Did she know what he was up to? He didn't post much on social media—as himself, at least—but maybe she'd heard through the grapevine. "Maybe you should call them," Peter told her. "You can even tell them they might be classmates with Spider-Man."

MJ snorted. "Ned would freak out."

Peter wasn't so sure. Ned already roomed with Spider-Man, so he was pretty used to it by now.

There was a silence, then. It wasn't awkward. Peter had been in his head about this so much, but it was _easy_ with Michelle. Easier than it had ever been as Peter. They'd both grown up since High School, but beyond that, the mask gave Peter a layer of protection so he didn't need to do it himself.

"I should probably go," he said hesitantly. "But I'm really glad I popped back in tonight, MJ."

She looked pleased. "Anytime."

Peter turned to leave, but stopped with his hand on the door. "Your friends at ESU," he said. "They're missing out. You should definitely reach out."

"Trying to pawn me off on someone else already?"

"Definitely not," Peter responded sincerely, even though he knew she was joking. "I rather like hanging out with you. But being a friend of Spider-Man can be tough. And as your friend, now—um, I hope—I just want you to have someone more reliable than me."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt the irony of them. Peter Parker would be no more reliable than Spider-Man. But maybe between the two of them, they could be there for MJ.

Michelle let the smirk drop from her face. "Thanks Spidey."

-0-0-0-

Michelle's shift ended at 4 AM. Luis came in at 3:59 looking like he was still asleep. Michelle would take her shift over his any day. He asked if anything special had happened today. She didn't tell him that Spider-Man had dropped by for half an hour. That she had flirted more baldly than she had ever flirted in her life. That they were friends now, somehow.

"Not really," she said instead. And she bid Luis a good night. Or a good morning. Her brain was far too exhausted to worry about which it was.

She lived only a block away. It was a simple walk, and despite the hour, the summer air was nice. Street lights gave the sidewalk an eerie yellow tint, and it reminded her of Queens, weirdly. This whole night had reminded her of home, Spider-Man contributing to that not the least.

She looked up at the high buildings around her. He was probably at his home somewhere. It was far too late for him to still be up swinging, right? Surely he got tired, even with his absurd strength and conspicuous fitness. Did he need to sleep? There were far too many questions, and if he only told her one thing about himself per visit, she'd never learn it fast enough.

Being Spider-Man's friend was going to be wonderful. If tonight was anything to go by, Michelle looked forward to every night he was going to visit. He was just enough of an awkward dork for her to feel good and confident. Just enough of a flirt to keep her excited. And just enough of an incredible human being for her to trust him. Maybe it was the mask. Maybe she was just projecting all of these qualities on to him because of how desperate she was for human connection.

And maybe he was right. Maybe sporadic visits from a masked man wasn't enough, no matter how energized she felt afterwards. And maybe...maybe Spider-Man reminded her of someone. There had been a reason she'd suspected him, after all, beyond coincidences and suspicious behavior.

She'd been wrong about Peter being Spider-Man. But she hadn't been wrong about him as a human. The kind of person who _would_ help people like Spidey, if he'd gotten the powers.

And the kind of person who, even without powers, would be happy to reconnect with an old friend. Would be happy to help her truly feel like she was home again.

She pulled out her phone instead of her keys as she neared her building. She sat on the steps to the main entrance and scrolled through her contacts.

 _Sup loser_ , she typed. _Is this still your number?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of just got lost in their conversation for a while, and I'm not mad about it. I hope you all enjoyed! Thanks so much for your support with this new fic, it just makes my day to hear from people!


	3. Hands

"I'm going to grab lunch with Peter and Ned tomorrow," Michelle said, trying to sound casual. She continued sketching, and didn't look up to see Spider-Man's reaction.

"Your old High School friends?" he asked.

He'd been coming by every couple of days for a few weeks now. Sometimes, he'd just pop in for five minutes, a hello, and a bottle of water. Other times, he'd spend an hour with her, and they'd pull the spare chair out of Joe's cramped office—partially walled off corner of the store, really—and get comfortable. Today, she'd asked if she could sketch him while they chatted. And after the obligatory jokes and suggestions that he take off his suit, he settled in and she started sketching. It's not as though she couldn't see the majority of his impressive anatomy through the tight suit anyway. And it's not as though she _cares_ if the somewhat still-hidden anatomy is just as impressive. She doesn't. Care. Or think about it.

"Mmhmm," she hummed in response, cutting her train of thought off. She'd told him she reached out to Peter and Ned per his suggestion. She'd told him about how little contact she'd had with her father since moving back. One short visit to Queens a week after she'd left Harvard. That was it. And she had no interest in visiting again until the holidays.

"That's great, MJ," he said, and she knew he meant it. For as strange as their relationship was, MJ trusted that Spider-Man genuinely wanted her to be happy. "Are you excited to see them?"

"It's been a while—they're probably completely different people." She started shading the left side of his mask in her sketch.

"Are you?" Spider-Man asked. "A completely different person, I mean."

She stopped shading, and stuck the tip of her pencil in her mouth. "I don't think so. I've certainly changed," she added. "Evolved, hopefully. But still the same person at my core."

"And who were they at their core?"

Spider-Man was easy to talk to. Many of his opinions and views lined up with hers, and when they didn't, he was never afraid to listen to her opinion. And he asked her questions in a way that made her think. Beyond that, conversations with him would consist of joking about their sexual tension one minute, and about police brutality and mass incarceration the next. Never boring, no matter how serious or silly.

What surprised her most wasn't his intelligence or thoughtfulness though. It was how genuine he was.

"They're such dorks, they'd make you look suave by comparison," she answered his question. "But they're also good dudes. I bet you'd get along with them. Peter is actually the one I thought was you."

Spider-Man chuckled, and rubbed at the back of his neck. She glared at him, because he was supposed to be sitting still. He brought his hand back down quickly. She continued sketching.

The muscles in his legs were _visible_ through his suit. She'd looked before, and appreciated him. She'd told him as much a dozen times. But now, under an artist’s scrutiny, she had to admit honestly how much she _liked_ it. She never thought she was into muscles. She'd never been against them, of course, but she'd never known how much they got her imagination running. Harry was fit enough, but he wasn't wide-shouldered with defined edges and hard planes to each muscle. And over the last two weeks, Michelle had to admit her fantasies _might_ have started to include those characteristics. And some red and blue spandex.

But only _sometimes_. And it's not like she was actively thinking of _him_.

It was while fighting off these particular thoughts that Spider-Man shot out of his chair and darted towards her. "The hell?" she found herself asking as he dove to the ground behind the counter, but then the _ding_ of a bell alerted her to the door opening.

It wasn't the first time he'd launched himself out of view of a customer just _moments_ before they had entered the store. She always thought he'd seen movement in his peripherals, but the door was behind him tonight. He hadn't seen them coming. Michelle was rather embarrassed that _she_ hadn't seen the customer walking up, actually. The shadow approaching the store had been right behind Spidey. Clearly she'd been too fixated on his thighs.

Michelle stood and welcomed a young woman into the store. Spider-Man sat on the ground, back to the cabinets under the counter. Michelle closed her sketchbook—she was mostly done with the sketch anyway—and stepped toward the register. Her leg brushed up against Spider-Man's arm. He didn't shift away. He actually seemed to shift closer, shoulder to elbow pressing along the side of her thigh and calf.

And the heat of him was far more distracting than it had any right being. She glanced down at him, and saw those wide, white mechanical eyes looking up at her. What was he thinking? Could he read every emotion in her eyes? How unfair that would be.

She tore her gaze away as the young woman approached with her few items. But she couldn't bring herself to remove the contact she had with Spider-Man. It was like his body heat had injected a numbing agent through her, and she couldn't focus. Luckily, scanning items and accepting payment was so second-nature, it required no thought, and the customer was on her way in moments.

Michelle turned, and dropped to the floor next to Spider-Man before he could move. She sat against the cabinets, and scooted over to him. Staring at the wall opposite them, she swallowed her nerves, and simply reveled in the feeling of him. She honestly couldn't tell if she was horny or only now recognizing she hadn't had true human contact since she left Harvard months ago. Either way, she tried to act cool despite whatever weird physiological response her body was having to his touch.

"So, how do you know when people are coming?" she asked, proud of the way her voice only shook a little.

"What?" Spider-Man asked, and the squeak in his voice before he coughed was a little satisfying. "What do you mean?"

She finally turned to face him. "Every time a customer is about to walk in here, you're on the ceiling or behind a shelf before they can see you. How?"

"My one thing to share for the day?" he asked, and she could hear his grin in his voice. They hadn't really held to that guideline, with Spidey being quite the talker once you got him going. At one point, she'd even stopped him jokingly to remind him he was only supposed to tell her one thing a day.

"Sure, Spidey," she smirked. "What's your secret to avoiding detection?"

He shrugged, and looked away. "It's this ti...feeling I get," he explained. "Like deja-vu, or a sudden itch. Sometimes I can intuit danger, other times I just know something is _wrong_."

"A sixth sense," Michelle whispered. She'd never heard that this was one of his powers. She felt rather humbled to be in on the secret. "A Spider Sense, if you will."

His eyes widened, and she saw his jaw drop within the mask. "Spider Sense?" he repeated. "That's _so_ much cooler than what I call it!"

Michelle grinned. "What do you call it?"

He shook his head. "Nope, not telling."

"You have to tell me now!"

"No, I don't!"

"Because it's lame?" she asked.

"No!" he said unconvincingly. "Because it has my name built into it."

A thrill pulsed down Michelle's spine at the prospect of even a hint of his name.

"But also because it's lame," she guessed.

He nodded. "It is pretty lame."

"The Alex Alert?" she guessed.

"What? No, that's even lamer than mine."

"The Felix Feeling?" He snorted and shook his head. "Danny Disturbance?"

"Are you just trying to guess my name? Because it's not even alliterative."

Michelle groaned, "Then how am I supposed to guess it?"

"You're not!" he said, hands open wide in distress. "That wasn't the point of this!"

"At least tell me the part of it that isn't your name," Michelle goaded. He shook his head. "Come on, Tiger! Throw me a bone here."

There was silence, but Michelle knew the silence was working on him. After a few beats, he mumbled the greatest word she could have asked for.

"Tingle."

Michelle burst with laughter—hands thrown up to her mouth like a cartoon—unable to contain it even if she wanted. But she didn't want, because watching Spidey try to talk his way out of the absurdity of the word was too much fun.

"I didn't even name it that!" he called out, his hands reaching for hers to pull them from her mouth.

"The Jonny Tingle," MJ managed to guess through fits of laughter.

Even Spider-Man was chuckling at this point. "It was my...my relative who named it!"

"The Buford Tingle."

"Buford?" he laughed, squeezing her hand.

"The Peter Tingle," she said, wanting to taste the name on her tongue. She'd been wrong about him, sure, but it had _fit_ so well, Peter being Spider-Man, that she'd never stopped imagining it. Almost like an alternate universe where she'd been right. She’d never believe it again, but that didn’t stop her from dreaming it. It's who she envisioned under the mask, even though she knew a different man was under it.

Spider-Man's laughter trailed off like hers, and she found his gloved hand stilled on top of hers, both resting on her thigh.

"So, can I use Spider Sense?" he asked, and his voice sounded hesitant. His body tense all of a sudden. Maybe he was unsure about holding her hand. She turned her wrist, forcing him to release her, only to intertwine their fingers. His shoulders relaxed.

"Do I get royalties?" she hummed.

"I'll give you half of every cent I make from the name," he said. She shifted their hands from her thigh to the valley where their legs touched, so his forearm ran down her leg, and hers ran along his leg. Anything she could do to touch a little bit more of him.

"How often do you feel it?" she asked, forcing herself to talk to keep from thinking about the heat and muscle of his leg. She never wanted to let go of his hand, but a chance to grip his thigh might do it.

His thumb slowly moved over the knuckle of her thumb. His suit felt strange on her skin. But nice. "Just now and then. A lot more when I'm in a fight. Keeps me from getting shot, so long as it's not on the fritz."

She turned sharply to him. "You've been shot? How was it on the fritz?"

He sighed, but didn't stop the slow, tantalizing movement of his thumb. "There was a time when my heart wasn't really in it," he explained. "I wasn't in a good place, and tried to just be Spider-Man to get over it. Unfortunately, my Spider Sense is apparently as much emotional as it is physical. And I didn't feel the bullet coming. I couldn't move out of the way in time."

Then he moved their hands slowly, just above his knee. "Is this okay?" he asked as he twisted their hands once more to guide her fingers. His hand fell on top of hers again and slotted between her fingers.

She nodded, unable to use her words while she ran fingers over the lines of his quadriceps. Maybe she imagined it, but she thought she felt a slight dip, or the fabric of his suit catching on something. A scar of his bullet wound, perhaps. She tightened her hand around his leg, and let her head fall to his shoulder. She breathed him in, almost a woody smell mixed in with the sweat of his hero-ing before his visit.

His fingers danced over the back of her hand. She closed her eyes and imagined his skin touching hers instead of the suit, willing her mind to fill in the gaps of this sensory input. The heat, the slight moisture of his hands. She could almost feel it. "I wish..." she mumbled, lost in the warmth of him. She reached over with her other hand and gripped his arm, around his bicep, and tucked herself tighter into him. "I wish I could touch you," she said.

And while the words might have been easy to laugh at, to make an overtly sexual joke about, Spider-Man didn't give in to the simple bait. He understood her longing to touch his hand, and remove the absurd layer of his suit between them.

"Me too, Michelle," he whispered back, and leaned his head against hers. Eyes shut, she felt at his wrist, hoping to find a seam of his gloves. But, "It's all connected," he explained. "All except the mask."

Again, the joke was obvious. _Take the whole suit off, then_. Yet, even if a part of her wanted that, too, Michelle couldn't bring herself to break the moment between them with humor.

She heard the now-familiar _thwip_ of his web shooter, and opened her eyes to see that he had webbed up the security camera aimed behind the desk. For the briefest of moments, she thought he was going to unmask himself for her. Instead, he settled back and relaxed completely into her.

She smiled. Maybe not what she wanted, exactly. But it warmed her to think he viewed this moment as too intimate to be caught on a camera—even if no one would ever look at this footage. So she settled in, and let herself enjoy it.

Hours later, she sat in her bed and ran fingers over her sketch of him. She smiled despite her drooping eyes, perfectly able to remember the feel of him as she looked at the drawing's arms, legs, hands, and shoulders. After several minutes, she set the sketch aside and picked up her phone. She checked her messages and emails—thankfully receiving none during her graveyard shift—and scrolled through her Instagram feed. She came across a post from Harry. She continued smiling, and unfollowed him.

-0-0-0-

“Dude!”

“I know, Ned.”

“No, seriously, Peter…”

“I _know_ , Ned.”

Ned stopped him, moments from walking into the little pizza place. Ned’s favorite.

“I don’t think you do know. You’re not freaking out.”

Peter _was_ freaking out. But he was rather proud that Ned couldn’t tell. Maybe it’s because Ned didn’t understand what Peter was freaking out about.

When he had played out all the scenarios in his head, from the moment MJ had said he could drop by _Joe’s_ anytime, none of them had taken this particular route. In his imaginings of the situation, Spider-Man would point her towards Peter. They’d reconnect, and Peter would find out if something was there. If these feelings he’d had festering for years existed for a reason.

Not once did he consider that it was _Spider-Man_ who would act on those festering feelings.

He could still feel her, tucked into his side, hand under his, her fingers gently stroking his leg. He could sense her warmth and hear her longing whisper. How tempted he’d been to pull off his mask right there.

So no, contrary to Ned’s belief, Peter wasn’t afraid of MJ finding out he was Spider-Man. She’d almost found out last night. No, Peter was terrified of how badly he wanted her to. His heart thudded painfully when he thought about it, the idea of pulling off his mask and kissing her. She was so beautiful, so funny, so _good_. It made so much sense.

And then he thought of Gwen’s lifeless body, her skin growing cold as Peter cradled her in his arms, his tears falling on her face.

“My mask’s voice modulator should be enough,” Peter said, keeping his shaky voice still despite the terrible and invasive memory.

“Dude, I don’t care how good it is,” Ned stressed. “If _half_ of the stuff you’ve told me is true about your late night visits, she’ll have you pegged in minutes.”

“We’ll see,” Peter said, and pushed into _Lombardi’s_. After the scented wave of baking bread and melting cheese washed over him, Peter cast his eyes around the room. Corner booth, there she sat.

He’d seen her less than 12 hours ago, yet his stomach swooped anyways. She wore simple jeans and a t-shirt, just like he’d grown used to seeing at _Joe’s_. Her hair was curly and fell down her cheeks, spilling over her shoulders. She absently played with the ends of it with one hand while holding a book in the other. Peter couldn’t see the cover, but Spider-Man had been told last night she was reading _The Color of Law_. They’d even had a discussion about it, and she’d taught him so much. She was brilliant.

And now he felt sick with himself, because as simple as it was, Peter knew what book MJ was reading—and she’d never told _him_ that. How much more information was he privy to that MJ never intended to share with him?

Ned nudged him forward, and he shook his head. Everything felt _wrong_ about this. Like one big lie. But wasn’t that what his entire life was anyway? It had been for years.

He marched forward, stuffing the guilt of it all down where he’d given it a home years ago when he first told May he was fine instead of telling her an experimental, radioactive spider had bitten him and he wasn’t feeling so good.

She looked up as they approached, quirked an eyebrow, and said, "Sup losers." As if it hadn't been over three years since they'd seen her. Legend.

Peter was grateful Ned was Ned, and all but pulled her out of the booth and into a hug. One of those Ned hugs that could make any day a good one. When she pulled away from him, an irrepressible smile on her face, Peter found himself struggling to breathe in all the best ways. She turned to him.

"Hi Peter."

"Hey MJ," he said softly, and then they awkwardly stepped forward into an embrace. His arms wrapped around the small of her back, and hers over his shoulders. The feel and scent of her was intoxicating, and Peter became hyper-aware of their hug. Was he holding her too long? Was he breathing in awkwardly? Should he say more while hugging her?

It was so absurd, particularly when compared with how easy their contact had been last night.

They pulled back, and MJ tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Peter coughed and motioned to the booth. "So, should we..."

"Sure, dork," she said with a patient roll of her eyes.

Peter slid in, Ned after him. And the three proceeded to have the nicest of lunches. Old jokes mixed in with updates of the past few years. Fond memories reflected on, and promises of meet-ups in the future. Ned was a godsend, really. Because there was no way Peter was projecting the tension between him and MJ.

Which, yeah, kind of hurt a little bit. Not that holding hands with Spider-Man meant that she couldn't glance at another guy. Still, last night meant something to him. And he'd been sure it had meant something to MJ too. So, after the third time he caught her staring at him while he was looking down at his pizza, he called her out on it. Tactfully, of course.

"What?" he asked with what he hoped was a disarming smile. He scratched at the back of his neck. "Do I have tomato sauce on my face or something?"

Rather than looking away, embarrassed, MJ looked at him even closer. Her eyes tracked his hand, moving from his neck to the imaginary mess on his face. She huffed out, leaned back in her seat, and shook her head. "No, it's...you remind me of someone. It's uncanny, really."

Ned stiffened at Peter's side. "Oh, wow," he said in a rush. "That's funny. Someone from Harvard or something?"

Peter wanted to smack his best friend. But that would only add to the suspicion. How could he be a friend of Spiderman for over half a decade and _still_ not know how to keep his cool?

She shook her head. "No, actually. Doesn't matter. It's just funny. And keeps distracting me."

Now Peter was relieved as Spider-Man that MJ wasn't giving him eyes so shortly after their moment last night. And infuriatingly, he was upset as _Peter_ that he hadn't been charming enough to do so. He groaned inwardly at his stupid feelings.

"Do you want me to change something for the rest of the meal?" Peter asked with a grin. Then he shifted accents. "Perhaps speak with a British accent? Mate?"

MJ rolled her eyes again, but he caught her smile. "No, dork," she said. "I see you haven't gotten better at your accents since High School."

"Bloody Hell, that hurts."

"Parker, no," she commanded. "If you keep this up I'm going to get a headache from rolling my eyes too much."

Peter only grinned back at her. And she at him.

Ned kicked his foot under the table.

Sometime later, after plans for a hangout at Peter and Ned's place were made, lunch was paid for, and goodbyes were given, Ned turned on Peter.

"Dude!" he said, arms waving comically, almost hitting a poor passerby as they walked back to their apartment.

"I know, Ned," Peter responded, weary.

“No, seriously, Peter…” Ned started again.

“I _know_ , Ned," Peter cut him off. "She obviously thinks I'm _like_ Spider-Man. But don't worry, she's defaulting to truth."

"Um...what?" Ned asked, stopping on their walk back. A poor old lady had to veer out of the way of him.

"Okay, so which is more likely, that I'm about the same height as Spider-Man and that I have a few of the same mannerisms, or that she just happens to know Spider-Man _and_ his real-life persona out of the millions of people in New York _while_ having seen me and Spider-Man as two different people at the same time?"

Ned looked stumped. "Those Chameleon robberies really happened at the perfect time, didn't they?"

Peter nodded. "Exactly! Add on top of all of this that she was 'proven' wrong about the same thing in the past, and you have MJ defaulting to truth."

"But it's _not_ true." Ned leaned forward conspiratorially. "You _are_ Spider-Man."

"Yeah, I know, Ned," Peter turned and started walking away. He felt sick. He hadn't felt that way for the entire lunch, really. Not when he was with her. But facing the horrible truth of it all made his stomach churn with regret. "It means she's defaulting to me _telling_ the truth. Believing my lies until there's too much doubt to explain away."

"Until you tell her," Ned said softly, catching up.

"Yeah."

They walked in silence for a moment, before Ned spoke up again. "When I was freaking out a minute ago, it's not because I thought she was going to figure you out."

Peter guessed he shouldn't have assumed and cut him off. "Oh, sorry Ned. What were you freaking out about then?"

"Peter, you know she looks at you differently, right?"

Peter stumbled. "Not...she was just seeing that I'm like Spider-Man."

"And you know you look at her differently, right?" he continued, ignoring Peter completely.

"Yeah," he admitted.

"And from what you tell me, she and Spider-Man look at each other differently."

"Your description is getting a little tired," Peter complained.

"Your avoidance of the topic is getting a little tired," Ned countered.

Peter groaned. "I know, Ned. I'm sorry."

"What are you going to do?"

Tell her. Confess everything. Then he could actually, _truly_ be with her. And be there _for_ her. And know for certain if these things he felt ran as deep as he thought they did.

Hide. Ghost her. Then he'd never have to worry again. She might lose her friend, but she'd be safe. Then he wouldn't lose her, and relive that hell that still woke him up some nights.

Nah. He was too much of a coward for either of those options.

"I don't know yet, Ned."


	4. Heat

Michelle scanned through her messages to Peter. Was it pathetic to be reliving their latest text conversation? Maybe. Did it annoy her to no ends how much he made her laugh when she _knew_ the same bad jokes would just be _bad_ coming from someone else? Possibly. Did she feel a little guilty about her friendship with Peter maybe possibly probably growing into something more even as she fell harder and harder for the faceless Spider-Man in his now almost nightly visits? Probably.

The whole situation was fucked up, and Michelle knew it. Relationships were hard enough _before_ throwing in a Superhero with a secret identity. And _before_ reuniting with an old crush. A crush that she didn't realize never really went away. Merely buried by time and distance. And now he was sending sweet messages wishing her luck with her first day of law school on Monday.

Never mind that both of them reminded her of the other. Clearly, she had a type.

She sighed, and put her phone away. Best not to be smiling about one boy when her other boy would be dropping by soon.

It's not like anything was really happening with either of them anyway. Aside from her texts, she never spent time with Peter unless Ned was also there. Almost to a suspicious degree. Michelle wasn't crazy—she knew that whatever energy existed between Peter and her was seen by _both_ Peter and her. The stolen glances while they were all eating dinner. The lingering, burning touches when they reached for the Pro Controller, only for Peter to stammer that she could have it. He was stuck with the Joy Con, and lost handily in a game of Mario Kart. He blamed the controller; she never let him forget the loss.

But there seemed to be a hard cap on how close they could get, possibly by Peter's design. Possibly by her own hesitations—be they Spidey-related or because she was still unsure about Peter. There was pain in his eyes, and MJ could guess at why. She'd been at Harvard, but she'd certainly heard about Gwen's death. How long had it been now? Two years? They'd been together since Junior year of High School. She couldn't imagine the kind of pain he'd felt, and possibly still felt.

So no, despite _feeling_ a lot of things, she and Peter hadn't moved forward in any real way in their relationship.

And then there was Spider-Man. She'd recently begun thinking of his suit like the full body condom from Naked Gun. They sat together almost every night, cuddling, holding hands, and touching in innocent places made all the more innocent by his utter refusal to show any skin. Literally.

Michelle had not-so-jokingly jokingly suggested he wear a different suit that had removable gloves. He'd laughed, and then continued to wear his usual suit the next few visits.

That conversation did not prepare her for the man and suit that stumbled into the store a few minutes later.

Spider-Man still wore his usual suit, but his right hand was a slightly discolored red, and _dripping_ dye from the fingertips. It didn't take long for her to see it wasn't dye.

"Spidey, f _uck!"_ Michelle all but shouted, and ran out from behind the counter toward the door, where Spider-Man was easing the door closed, leaving a smear of blood on the handle.

"Hey MJ," he said rather nonchalantly, and then looked at the door handle. "Oh shit, sorry. I'll clean that up, I swear. Can I use your bathroom?"

At a closer look, he had a long tear across his forearm, halfway between the wrist and the elbow. The tear obviously went deeper than the suit, and she could see a gash across his arm. This was _not_ how she'd have chosen to get her first glimpse of his skin. Opened up and bloodied.

"The bathroom?" Michelle asked, incredulous. "Dude, you need the hospital!"

He scoffed and then chuckled. The nerve. "For this? Nah, I've got some superglue with me. This will be healed up in an hour. Just got to get it cleaned up. Bathroom?"

"Just use the sink by the—hold up, superglue? Dude, that's a _lot_ of blood!"

Spider-Man just shrugged and shot some webbing at the cameras again. That was becoming a common occurrence during his visits. He walked towards the sink by the Pepsi fountain drinks, which she had started to direct him towards until she realized he planned on gluing his fucking skin back together. "It looks worse than it is because I had to throw a few extra punches after getting cut. Really makes the blood pump...you know, out of you."

"Can I get soap, or a bandage or something?" she asked. "Surely you're joking about glue."

"Sure, thanks. But glue works really well for me, actually," he explained, and held his other hand out in front of him as if that would stop the little droplets of blood from falling. The blood decided to drop every few feet across the store anyways. His mechanical eyes somehow managed to look apologetic. "I heal super fast," he explained as he reached the sink. "Emphasis on super."

Michelle nodded, trying to think of anything she could do for him. But he seemed well practiced at it all. He tore at the already-ripped sleeve of his suit, and shook his detached glove from his hand into the sink. His hand was streaked with blood from where it run down his wrist and hand, and pooled at his fingertips. The glove hit the bottom of the sink with a _splat_. He turned the faucet on, and the water and blood instantly mixed in a swirl of bubbles and hues of red.

She hurried to the supply closet and got some soap for him. The first aid kit there was pitiful, but hopefully it had something useful. It was the only thing she could think of.

"I'm really sorry about this," he said again when she returned. He wiped at sink with his hand, trying to keep the blood from staining. "I swear I'll clean it all up."

"Stop apologizing for bleeding," she told him, and shoved the items on the counter next to him. Now that so much of the blood had been rinsed away, she got a better look at the wound. And Spider-Man was actually right. It wasn't that bad. "How did you have so much blood from a wound that small?"

He rolled up the sleeve, successfully hiding the bloody edges away under the rolls of fabric. He turned his arm around a few times to inspect the slash that ran nearly half the circumference of his arm. It wasn't _small_ , but certainly thinner than she'd initially feared, given the blood. "It's been half an hour," he shrugged. "It was a bit bigger when it first happened."

"No Spidey Sense today?" Michelle asked, hoping for some levity.

"It was this or a bullet," Spidey said, again with such nonchalance that Michelle wanted to strangle him. His levity was different than hers. "Sometimes the Tingle only gives me enough warning to choose between two evils. I went with the cut."

"Right," she nodded, and knew she needed to occupy herself to avoid thinking too much about what he'd just said. So she went back to the supply closet, put on some gloves, filled a bucket, and got out the mop and a rag.

"No, MJ," he complained when he noticed what she was doing. His arm was soaped up and soaking, but he started walking towards her anyway. "I'll clean up, I swear."

"Clean yourself up, Spidey," she said, and walked over to the front door. She flipped the sign to 'closed'. "Let me do this."

She couldn't see him from the front of the store, hidden behind a few rows of various items, but it took him a while to answer before she heard a hesitant voice. "Yeah, okay. Thanks."

Ten minutes later, there was little evidence of Spider-Man's sudden intrusion. The door handle and floor were wiped clean, the sink he'd sullied with blood had only pure water droplets, and his wound was glued shut. She walked over to him where he was wiping up with some paper towels.

"So, glue works, huh?" she asked again, curious.

"Really well, actually," he nodded. "Closes the wound up and lets my healing work faster. I don't even scar unless it's _really_ bad."

She stared down at the wound, still bright pink through the glob of glue keeping it tight. But it didn't look bad at all. For the first time, she believed him when he said it would be healed in less than an hour. "Would a bandage help?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Probably. A little tougher to do with one hand though."

She grabbed the bandaging from the first aid kit and took his arm in her hand.

"Sorry I scared you," he whispered softly as she set about winding the bandage around his forearm.

"Not scared," Michelle claimed, and blew some hair out of her face where it was blocking her view. "I'm clearly just not used to this like you are. It was s little more blood than I usually see."

"I shouldn't have come here," he said.

"It's fine," Michelle said. And she was serious. "I'd rather someone be here to take care of your dumb ass than you be on your own taking care of this."

"You _like_ me," he teased, causing her to look up at him and glare. "It's cute seeing you nervous for me."

"Yeah, well it's not cute seeing your blood everywhere." She fastened the bandage and finally let herself exhale. And it hit her. She was finally touching him. She ran her fingers from his bandage down his arm. She covered his hand with hers lightly and brushed her thumb over his wrist. "I do like this, though,"

"Yeah," he said, his voice thick. She had the distinct impression that he was pleasantly surprised by the contact, too. He turned their hands around, and his fingertips glided over her palm. Almost ticklish, mostly delightful. Her heart beat picked up, and she chanced a glance at his face.

His mask.

She sighed, and focused back on his hand, which had reached her wrist and had started to circle back to her hand. "So why did you come here tonight?"

He traced the outside of her thumb, then on to her fingers. "I like spending time with you," he hummed. "And I know you're off work for a couple of days as school starts back up. And if I'd gone home, I would have talked myself out of visiting tonight."

Her heart thumped harder at his admission. "Because of the torn suit?" she guessed, trying to keep her voice steady, and not chanting prayers of gratitude for the lost piece of his getup. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine it wasn't just his fingers, but his lips touching her so gently.

If she couldn't feel his lips, at least he could feel hers.

She clasped his hand once more, and brought the backs of his fingers to her lips. She heard his breath catch. And looked at his stupid mask again. His white eyes were wide, and then he relaxed, and cradled her cheek.

He stepped forward, and his other, gloved hand gripped her at her waist. His hold on her was reassuring, and frankly necessary as his ran his thumb across her bottom lips like an artist's brush. "Yeah, but tearing that suit was the best thing to happen to me in weeks."

She closed her eyes, turned her face into his palm, and kissed his hand. He smelled and tasted like soap. Better than blood, she supposed. Gripping his hand once more, she brought it to her neck, where his feather-light touch resumed, dancing over her pulse down to the neckline of her shirt. She wished she was wearing something that dipped deeper.

She opened her eyes again and grimaced.

"What's...what's wrong?" he stammered.

"I just," she started, and sighed. His hand dropped from her skin, and she missed its heat intensely. "Now that I've gotten a taste...I want more."

She put her hands on his chest, not letting herself get distracted by the feel of the muscle there. She moved to the edge of his mask, but didn't move to take it off. And they stood in silence for eternal seconds.

"I'm not..." he said at last. "I can't."

An angry chill ran through her veins. "You don't trust me," she guessed, praying her voice didn't sound as pained as she felt.

He gripped the wrists of her hands. "No, MJ, I swear it's not about you at all. I trust you! I even want to show you. But...I'm scared!"

Confusion filled her. Scared? Of her? "I'm not going to tell anyone, I swear."

"That's not it," he said, still desperately holding her wrists, like he was afraid she'd run away.

She wouldn't run. "Afraid I won't like a few scars or something? Because I don't care about that Tiger."

He shook his head again. "Not that either, MJ. I actually think you'd like what you see."

She bit back a sarcastic retort about his confidence because this conversation was more important. "What then, Spidey? What could you _possibly_ be afraid of?"

Silence dragged on again, but Michelle stayed still. She could tell he was thinking. He was weighing something. "I just can't tell you who I am right now. But please don't conflate my identity hang-ups and insecurities with a lack of trust in you. You're...incredible. Amazing. Everything I could hope for."

And his earnestness made the decision for her. Her heart beat sped up again. "I won't look then," she whispered. "But can you please let me feel you?"

A pin could drop and she wouldn't need Spider-Man's super senses to hear it. He'd stopped breathing. And then, hands still on her wrists, he guided her hands to his mask. She tucked her fingers under, closed her eyes, and lifted.

It peeled back easily enough, and MJ fought every instinct and temptation to open her eyes. Spider-Man had proven he trusted her. She would validate that trust. He took the mask from her shaking hands and she heard it drop to the floor. And then he was guiding her hands up to his face.

He was clean-shaven, skin smooth under her fingers. An image of Peter came to her mind, unbidden, as she traced his jaw and held his cheek in her hand. She hated that his was still the image she had of Spider-Man, but she supposed that was the price the man paid for not letting her see him. When she carded her hands through curly hair, it felt just like she'd always imagined Peter's would, too.

She shook her head, willing the comparison away. At the very least, she'd stop thinking his name. Because right now, she was touching the face of the man she'd been fantasizing about for weeks. The man she'd been cuddling against and holding. And she was finally touching him!

Michelle leaned forward, and her forehead rested against his. His grip returned to her waist, a blessedly steadying force.

"MJ," he whispered. His voice was different. She should've known the mask had been modifying it. But even now, she could tell this voice sounded off. Either artificially lowered to keep her from hearing his real voice or filled with emotion she was scared to name.

She kissed him.

She missed a little bit, off to the side, and really only touching his bottom lip and chin. He chuckled before his bare hand found her face again and he guided her into a second, perfect kiss.

And _fuck_ could the man kiss. He could do it all, too. Soft, gentle kisses that made her feel safe and cared for. Made her feel like she was the _only_ one he'd ever kiss again.

Exploratory, probing kisses, like this was only the beginning. Like a promise of thousands more in thousands of new ways that left a heat smoldering deep inside her.

Hot, dirty kisses that ratcheted the heat up, left her legs weak and body desperately craving _more_.

She moaned into his mouth, and he growled in response, nipping at her bottom lip. She fell forward into him, balling up his suit at his chest in her hands. She felt his arousal as his hand left her waist to wrap around her and pull her to him. His lips found her neck and he licked and sucked at her pulse point.

"Is this okay?" he asked in that voice that was familiar and unfamiliar all at once. She rolled her hips against his.

"Yes," she said, keeping her eyes screwed shut. She wasn't sure if her other senses were dialed up with her loss of sight, but he was certainly making her feel that way. "More." His bare hand slipped under her shirt and ran up her back. Her skin lit up in flames where his fingers touched. His touch was no longer light. He was sure to make her feel him. His fingers curled around her side, pressing into her ribs. She shifted so she could hike a leg over his thigh and rubbed, seeking relief.

"Been thinking about this for a month," Michelle admitted. She buried her head in his chest and opened her eyes for just a moment to see just the spider emblem and the red of his suit. She rubbed against his thigh harder, and moaned.

"Fuck, Michelle," he shuttered. His hand dropped to cup her ass and helped her rut against him, faster and harder. Shocks of pleasure ran from her toes to her stomach with each roll of her hips. "I've been thinking about it," he stopped and chuckled. "For a long time, too."

She closed her eyes again, and her lips found his neck. She bit lightly, and he hissed his pleasure. She tilted her head up, licked the shell of his ear. "Touch me?" she whispered.

"Yeah," he breathed out. "Where?"

"Everywhere. Inside me."

His grip on her tightened, and then he spun her around. She gasped at the feeling of his erection to her backside. She rubbed against him, and he whimpered into her neck where he pressed his lips to her skin. She felt his hands snake around her, and splayed out on her stomach. She opened her eyes when she realized he was hidden safely behind her to see his gloved hand moving up, and his bare hand lifting the hem of her shirt. His fingers on her bare stomach made her skin twitch, and heat pooled between her legs.

His gloved hand covered her breast over her clothes and he squeezed her gently. She brought her hands behind her to run through his hair. His bare hand dipped below the waistband of her jeans. He whispered something in her ear, but she couldn't hear over the sound of wind rushing by her ears and the rapid thumping of her heart.

"Ah!" she moaned when his fingers dipped into her, a tentative stroke. He kissed her softly where her shoulder met her neck. She thought she saw curly brown hair out of the corner of her eye as he bent forward to do so. She titled her head away from him and focused on his hands. Fortunately, seeing his hand move inside her jeans was outrageously hot and distracting.

"Wow, Michelle," he said, wonder in his voice. He dipped his middle finger in deeper, and slowly brought it back out. "You feel so good. You're so wet."

"Weeks of foreplay will do that to a girl," she defended herself—though she got the distinct impression that there was no accusation in Spider-Man's words.

"Is that what we were doing?" he asked, and she heard the smile in his voice, hoarse with pleasure.

She nodded. "Yeah, now get on with it."

But he was in no hurry—simultaneously torturous and gratifying. She didn't complain though. She didn't know the next time he'd come in without a glove, after all. And she _certainly_ didn't know when he'd take his mask of for her to see. So she let him take his time.

Besides, every movement seemed intentional, like he was cataloguing every sound she made, every jerk of her hips in reaction to his fingers' movements. With his other hand, he undid the button of her jeans to give him more freedom of movement, which he used with great success.

He added a second finger, and seemed to find success alternate between pressing his palm hard into her and then using his thumb to circle her clit teasingly. She gripped at his forearm as her pleasure built. He hissed in pain, and she realized she'd just squeezed his injury.

"Oh, fuck, sorry Tiger," she said through the haze in her mind.

"'S okay," he said, and if anything the pain had spurred him _on_. He rubbed against her ass while his hand started moving faster.

"Yes," she hissed and instead of grabbing his arm again, she reached behind her to cup the back of his neck. She needed to hold something. She needed to ground herself because the feel of him pumping in and out of her was becoming too much.

"Love how hot you feel, MJ," he whispered. "Love how you move. I want you to come. Do you want to come, Michelle?"

"Yes, Tiger," she cried. "Make me come."

"Close your eyes again," he said, picking up the pace even more. His thumb pressed against her clit. "I want to watch you."

She did so, and he shifted to her side just enough to watch. Then he curled his fingers inside of her and she fell apart. Her legs wobbled, and he pinned her to him with his gloved hand. She buried her head in his chest again and clutched at him, desperately riding each wave of pleasure. He continued pumping his fingers in her in time with her harried breathing as she came down, down.

Until she was left feeling tired and alive all at once. "Can you stand?" he asked after a few moments of just letting her breathe.

She chuckled, and only then realized how much of her weight she'd been letting him hold. "Yeah," she got herself steadied, and listened as he picked up his mask from the ground. "That's one talented hand you've got there, Spidey."

He huffed out a laugh, and when he spoke again, his voice was back to normal. Well, normal for her. And yet somehow unfamiliar still. "Yeah, I've gotten quite dexterous with my webshooter."

She opened her eyes again to glare at him, masked once more. "Is that what you're calling it?" She looked down to find he was still sporting a massive erection.

He scratched the back of his neck. "I mean...I do sometimes, actually. But I was actually being serious. It takes some real—"

She cut him off by cupping him through his suit. He stumbled backwards as she rubbed him, until he rested against the counter with the sink. "Holy fuck!" he said, and the eyes of his mask closed shut.

She couldn't properly get her hands around him while he was in his suit, but clearly he was enjoying what she managed with her hand. She felt powerful, reducing a Superhero to this cursing, blithering mess. He gripped the edge of the counter and looked up at the ceiling.

"Fuck, MJ, you have to...you have to stop." His words made her stop, even if his tone told her he hated saying them.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Too okay," he panted. "I'm already going to be bringing a torn and bloodied suit back to Tony for repair. I _really_ don't want to add cum to the list of things I ask him to take care of."

Michelle burst out in laughter and leaned forward into his chest. He chuckled with her and wrapped and arm around her. His erection pressed against her leg. "I feel bad," she admitted. "I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel."

He pressed his lips—through his mask now, but the thought was what counted—to her head. "You did, don't worry. Besides, I've got a talented hand. You said so yourself."

She envisioned him in a short while climbing into the shower, washing away the sweat and any leftover blood from his body. Then taking himself in his hand and stroking. A name on his lips.

"Think of me," she said. And for good measure, she rubbed her hand over him one last time.

His grip tightened on her arm. "It won't be the first time," he admitted.

She knew she'd had the store closed for far too long. Their time was running out tonight. But she couldn't help but bask in his presence. Sure, she still had her fears about what they were doing. How she _still_ didn't even know who he was.

But she also _knew_. She knew he cared. He remembered her favorite tea, and listened to her rant about intersectionality and the broken police and judicial systems. He hadn't revealed his identity yet, but it was clear from his behavior that he'd told her more than he'd ever told anyone before. At least as Spider-Man. She knew he was _good_ and honest and earnest, which she couldn't say about her past lovers, even if she _had_ been able to sketch their faces, and knew their last names.

She didn't like being this vulnerable. Allowing herself to feel so much. But he made her feel safe. That's what he did, right? He protected people?

It wasn't until she got home later that night that she realized she'd stopped thinking about Peter at some point in her time with Spider-Man. A small part of her was sad, like she'd just closed a door before ever _really_ getting a look inside. But mostly, she was happy. Spider-Man wouldn't let her down.

-0-0-0-

Peter paced outside of the cemetery.

What kept him from going in? From seeking out Gwen?

Primarily the empty _sucking_ feeling in his gut that grew bigger and stronger every time he...well, _thought_. Thought about Gwen, and the way the Goblin had _used_ her to get to him. Thought of his own web, and the role it had played in her death. He'd had enough discussions with Ned, May, and the Avengers' therapist to cognitively understand he shouldn't blame himself. That didn't always help what he _felt_ though.

He thought about MJ too, and how he'd been lying to her. Lying to her in order to lie to himself. He wasn't getting _that_ close to her, he rationalized. She didn't even know it was him, after all. These thoughts added claws to the suctioning void in his stomach. They scratched at his chest from the inside.

He thought about himself, and the realization that he was too weak to stay away. Too weak not to fall more and more for MJ every day until he'd put her in the exact same position as Gwen had been a couple years ago.

And how dare he get to feel like this again? He could still feel MJ in his hands, shaking as she fell apart. He'd felt it later last night too, when he'd taken himself in his hand, but seeing MJ's when he closed his eyes. She'd stroked gently at first, and whispered dirty and lovely things in his ear. And she'd sped up until he released into the shower, stumbling against the tiled wall in his ecstasy. His smile had been unshakable last night. She'd kept her eyes _closed_ for him. He mattered more to her than who he was.

He'd imagined telling her everything in that moment. He was Peter. He was Spider-Man. He was falling so far for her, he'd never be able to get back up.

And Gwen could experience none of this anymore. Where was the justice in that?

Peter swung open the gate, holding his breath as if it could ease the pain.

The beauty and peace of the cemetery mocked him. He was glad for it, of course. Gwen deserved everything that _could_ be given at this point. The big trees, with just the hint of Autumn on them. The well-kept grass and flower beds separating groups and families, giving them a semblance of togetherness that could never truly exist anymore.

When he arrived, he found a pair of flowers on her grave. Peter added his lilac to the small bunch.

"Hey Gwen," he muttered, and had to clear his throat to mask the hoarseness there. "It's been a little longer than usual. Sorry about that."

He waited. He wasn't sure what for. The wind blew, and Peter gathered his courage.

"The truth is...I've been trying not to think about you lately. Because you remind me of real love. And the consequences of it for me. And for those I love. It wasn't hard to think of you when I was with Johnny or Cissy this past year. The things I felt for them didn't run deep like they did for you. Or...or like they're starting to with MJ.

"Seeing you, and thinking about you means admitting what's really happening with MJ. And the danger I'm putting her in. It means acknowledging what I've known all along. What I've got to do. There's no going part-way with her. I know that now. I can admit it, at least."

He sighed, and frowned at himself. "How selfish is this? I come here to pay respects and end up just talking about _me_. You deserve better. You always have. I'll love you always, Gwen."

And Peter walked away, and made his decision.

He didn't see MJ again for three weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the wonderful support you've all given with this fic! We've just got one more chapter after this, so I hope you're enjoying it!


	5. Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bumped the rating up to E because why risk it and they swear a lot in this chapter for some reason. Those profane dummies.

During the first couple of days, Peter found it bitter to think of MJ. She wasn't working at _Joe's_ on these nights, so he imagined her in her apartment, preparing for her classes. Every once in a while, she might look up from whatever she was doing and smile. Maybe she'd even touch herself, thinking on their last night together. The thought made Peter sick.

Little did she know it would truly be her last night.

The night that she returned to _Joe's_ tore Peter apart. More than any night, that was the day Peter waffled most on his decision to cut her out of his life—to cut Spider-Man out of hers. He spent the late hours of the night telling himself to just swing by and explain things. Surely that would be better than ghosting?

But Peter Parker was weak. If he showed up and tried to tell her that whatever they were was over, Michelle Jones would win. Lawyer-to-be, smartest person he'd ever met, she would convince him. Not to mention, he'd be dying inside to be convinced.

So despite the heartbreak, Peter stayed away. He hated himself for the hurt he'd be causing. It clawed at him every bit as harshly as the guilt of his denial and lies had. But she'd be safe. And he'd be safe from the greater heartache of losing her to something much worse than a failed relationship.

Peter's heart broke again a week later when he got a text from her.

_Sup loser,_ it read. _Doing anything this weekend?_

In his attempts at minimizing the hurt and guilt of it all, Peter had somehow managed to compartmentalize his decision to impacting only Spider-Man's life. And clearly, following his night fingering her, MJ had made a decision regarding which guy she'd been giving eyes to. With Spider-Man ghosting her, it appeared Peter was back on her watch list.

The alternative was that she was hurting badly enough to reach out to him as a lifeline, and it absolutely crushed Peter to know that was a real possibility. That he had done that to her.

So he texted back. And that's all it could be, Peter knew. Because if he called her after she texted him about having a rough first week of school, he couldn't trust himself not to immediately apologize and come clean about it all. He needed the barrier of text, the allowable seconds or minutes to compose himself before composing a response. He came up with increasingly lame excuses for why he couldn't grab lunch with her on campus or couldn't join Ned and her for drinks on her night off.

But he tried as much as possible to be a friend through text. It was limiting, but it was the least he could do.

When Ned got some texts from her after Peter's fourth time using "too much school work" as his excuse, and confronted Peter about it, Peter tried to play it off. "I just don't think it's going to work out, Ned," he told him. "And I don't want to keep sending mixed messages." Fortunately, Peter had never told Ned about that last night with MJ. He didn't think he'd be able to take the judgmental look or admonishing words.

Ned went out with MJ to get ice cream that weekend, late one night. He came home sour, but it was clear MJ hadn't told him what had happened with Spider-Man.

"Peter, she needs _you_ ," he said instead. "You two have a connection. She's clearly going through some tough stuff right now with school starting and Spidey no longer visiting."

"We can't have a connection," Peter told him simply before retreating to his room, burying his face in his pillow, and laying there for hours, tossing and turning.

The consuming pit in his stomach never went away. Perhaps his guilt had just shifted from fear of potential physical harm he _might_ cause to the reality of actual emotional harm he _had_ caused.

But Peter was well-acquainted with guilt, even if this particular brand was a new. He'd compartmentalize. He'd throw himself into Spider-Manning. He'd wait it out until MJ was better, and then he'd be better.

It was hard to be a hero when he felt like this. It was a drag swinging through the city. He responded to fewer calls on the police scanner, trusting them to do the job more than he probably should. He kept his eyes less peeled for do-badders, cats in trees, or little old women who needed help carrying groceries. Sometimes he felt like he was wasting his time, as unengaged as he was. But he knew he'd just be laying in bed, staring at his ceiling if he was at home.

On the third week without her, that compartmentalization caught up with him. It should have been a routine carjacking cleanup. He chased the car through the buildings of Greenwich late one night after catching the police chatter of stolen car in progress. That was a big enough deal to catch his failing interest. The yellow sedan wasn't hard to find, as it weaved dangerously between traffic. He landed on the hood of the vehicle, denting it and silently apologizing to the owner. Gathering his wits, Peter leaned to the side, punched through the driver's window, and launched the thief from the car before webbing him to the wall.

The car was still travelling plenty fast, though, now with no driver to prevent an accident. So Peter shot webs to either side of the vehicle, planted his feet in the dent he'd made, and brought the car to a sharp stop. Tires squealing, the car tipped up on its front wheels. Peter dropped to the ground in front of the vehicle as it flipped, and he caught it.

His muscles tightened, and he let out a cry from the weight and momentum of it before he dropped it back to the street, safely stopped. Even if the transmission was probably shot. He sighed, turned, and sat on the hood of the car. He _really_ hoped the car owner had insurance, because he had likely done some pretty expensive damage to the car.

What could he say, though? He wasn't exactly on his A-game right now. He might even have to call it early ton—

The thought died in his mind as a sharp pain exploded in Peter's back. He leaped from the hood of the car, and turned to see a man, half-bent over, holding a bloodied knife in his hand. The back right door was open of the car—he'd been in there the whole time and Peter hadn't even known. Hadn't realized. Hadn't _sensed_.

He pawed at the pain in his back and hissed when he felt the stab wound there. It wasn't terrible. But it certainly wasn't _good_. "Shit, man!" Peter groaned, and looked at the blood on his glove. The man's eyes widened as he realized he hadn't stopped Spider-Man, but just made him angry. Peter made quick work of his attacker, and webbed him to the driver's door of the car.

"Are there any more of you in there?" Peter asked, bending down to look through the front windshield. The movement made the pain in his back explode. How had he not sensed? Where was the Tingle?

But then, this had happened before. In the days after he'd chased the Goblin out of town and was trying to avoid thinking about Gwen. He sat gingerly back on the hood of the car, and looked at the man webbed nearby. "What am I gonna do, man?" he asked, certainly more to himself than this thief, who was webbed so fully that his mouth was covered and he couldn't respond. That didn't stop his eyes from widening in fear as if Spider-Man was contemplating whether or not he should hurt or kill him, though. Peter almost laughed about it.

But he was in no laughing mood.

He could web home. Painfully, yes, but he could do it. He could ask Ned to patch him up, as he'd done before. He could crawl into bed and tell himself over and over again that he'd done the best by MJ. But what he'd failed to weigh against the danger he'd save her from, was the damage he'd do to her by leaving.

Or _Joe's_ was just two blocks away. He could walk that without opening the wound up much more. Maybe she'd help him, or tell him to fuck off. It didn't really matter. She deserved an explanation at the very least.

Each step was painful, but Peter hated the growing dread more than the pain. What had he been _thinking_ , just abandoning her like that? What she must think of Spider-Man now. He got his fix, his notch on the figurative belt, and bounced.

But despite the dread, Peter's resolve strengthened. He'd hurt her. He needed to make it as right as he could. On the positive side, after all of this, she'd never want to see him again. So at least she'd be safe.

He swung open the door apprehensively, and stepped in. She looked up from a book she was reading at the counter. Her face fell into a steely glare.

"Hey MJ," Peter said, his voice cracking.

Her mouth opened two, three times, and each time it shut, she seemed to grow angrier. "What do you want?" she settled on at last, tone cold.

He took another limping step into the convenience store. Her eyes caught the strange movement. "I just wanted to...explain, I guess."

"Are you hurt?" she asked, ignoring his words.

"Um, yeah," he shrugged. "I got stabbed."

She looked up at the ceiling, annoyance joining the anger on her face. "Fuck, dude. How bad is it?"

"It's not good," he admitted. "But that's not why I came by."

She rolled her eyes before scanning his body with them, looking for the injury. "Sink's over there," she waved blindly to the sink he'd used to clean himself up last time. The same night she came on his fingers. And then he left. What an ass.

"No, I need to talk to you," he argued. And motioned to his back. "I can't reach it anyway."

She sat up in her chair, a softness coming to her features for the first time. The softness he'd grown to love about her, as she'd revealed it to him. He suspected she didn't reveal it often, afraid of being vulnerable like that. And then he'd rewarded that vulnerability with this clusterfuck of a situation. What an ass.

She sighed. "Flip the sign. Meet me at the sink. I'll get the first aid kit."

He saw her determined gaze and decided not to fight it. He flipped the sign to 'closed,' hobbled to the sink, and leaned against the counter, his back to the sink. She brought out a new first aid kit, set it down, and opened it up.

"Is that new?" Peter asked, motioning to it.

"Yeah," she sniffed, and leaned forward to get a look at his wound. She pulled on gloves as she spoke. She was prepared. "I bought it the day after you came in bleeding. Thought I might need it again. Never crossed my mind that I'd never see you again."

Peter's heart shattered. What an ass. "I'm so sorry," his voice cracked.

"Yeah," she said, voice still steely. "I can't clean this. Your suit is in the way, and the opening doesn't even line up with the wound."

Peter hit the spider emblem on his chest and the suit fell loose around him. He tentatively shook the suit off, hissing at the pain in his back as the suit peeled crusted blood from his back and wound. He kicked the suit off, and turned back to MJ, who studied him carefully. Angrily.

She said nothing at first. Only leaned over to soak a gauze pad in water and wiped at his wound. He hardly felt the pain, as aware as he was at her fuming to his side.

"Thanks," he said softly when it seemed she was almost done cleaning the wound.

"I don't know if I should glue this up," she responded. "You should go to a hospital. You might have internal bleeding."

"I don't," Peter answered. She leaned back to look at him, unimpressed. "No, really. I...uh, know what that feels like."

She pursed her lips and nodded. And went to work. She took deep breaths, and Peter wondered if the sight of his blood was getting to her, or the _something_ that was building inside of her. He felt her apply the glue—actual medical glue; not the shit he carried around—and pinch his skin together. She held it in place and leaned back again to look at him.

"Stabbing or a bullet?" she asked. At his tilted head of confusion, she elaborated. "Last time you said you had to choose between a cut and getting shot. Is this the same deal?"

"No. I—my Spidey Sense isn't working right."

She stared at him hard, brow angled sharply. Then something seemed to snap in her.

"What is this, really, Spidey?" she asked, voice harsh with pain. "Cuz this won't work. If you're really hoping to come in here and pull the same shit twice. _Oh MJ, I'm hurt, take care of me and I'm broken and look at my body. Let me fuck you this time before I disappear_."

"What?" Peter asked, aghast. "No, MJ, I swear—"

"Because I don't know how you got the impression that I was just some girl you could bait and seduce and fucking _finger_ me at your convenience, but I'm _not_."

"I'm not here for that!" Peter said. "You think I could expect anything from you after how I fucked up? I'm just here to tell you the truth. I'm—"

"The truth!" Michelle cried. "That's fucking rich. I don't know how I got you so wrong, dude. I don't—"

Peter took off his mask.

There was a good four to five seconds where the only movement came from MJ's eyes as they darted across his face. Peter wasn't sure what reaction she would have, but the seeming lack of a reaction caught him by surprise.

Until she smacked him, open palmed, on his chest. "You...you, Fucker!" she screamed. "Oh my god, Parker, you fucking _liar_!"

Part of him wanted to defend himself. That he'd never actually lied to her. But the distinction between withholding truth and lying seemed like a poor defense in this moment. She hit him again, and he flinched. Not from pain—she wasn't actually hitting hard enough to hurt him, knife wound or no—but from the hurt in her eyes.

She brought her hands down to her sides, clenched them into fists, and gave him a glare like he'd never seen before. "Was this all some sick game to you or something?" she asked at last. " _Let's see which one MJ likes more, Peter or Spidey_."

She was doing a lot of talking for him. A lot of assuming. Which might bother him in other circumstances. But that's what happened when you didn't talk to someone for three weeks. When you withheld truth. It allowed them to paint all sorts of pictures with their pain. "No," he said. "MJ, it was never a game."

"What then?" she asked, and Peter saw tears in her eyes. The clawing in his stomach intensified, and he _hated_ himself for the pain he brought to her.

"When I meet people as Peter...I can keep Spider-Man from them," he tried to explain. "I can hide that part of me, and it _works_. Because when they only know some of me, the feelings only run so deep. But when you knew both sides of me, MJ, I couldn't help it. Falling for you."

She stared at him, not understanding. He groaned in frustration. "MJ, the last girl I fell in love with died because I did."

For the first time since he took off the mask, MJ's eyes dropped from his face. "Gwen," she whispered. And Peter could see the dots connecting in her brain. Gwen was no simple casualty of Goblin's terror. She was his target.

"Yeah," Peter responded. "And I know it doesn't excuse what I did. When I first bumped in to you again, it was great to see a friend again. I imagined meeting you as Peter again. I always liked you, MJ, and thought something might come of it. But...I didn't expect to feel things this deep again."

She frowned. "So, what, Parker? You decided getting close and then ditching me was the way to go? Until you realize you need me for your Peter Tingle?"

"I was stupid," he admitted. "I told myself that staying away was necessary. I knew if I told you everything, you'd convince me I was being dumb. Letting my guilt get in the way."

"Well you're right," she said. "Oddly deterministic of you to think that history would repeat. Or that _I_ had no choice in taking that risk."

He let out a humorless laugh. One sentence. Once sentence she'd uttered, and he knew it would play in his head for the rest of his life over reflections of his greatest regrets.. "Yeah—I knew you'd say shit like that and make me cave."

"So it's my fault now?" she bit out.

"No, MJ, god!" he cried out. "None if this is your fault, okay? I fucked up. I fucked up in my own head, I fucked up with you, and I'm fucking this up, too. I'm not here to _fix_ my Tingle by _fixing_ us, okay? Because I know what I did can't just be _fixed_. I'm here because I hurt you, and I need you to hurt a little less. You're all I think about out there, and how sorry I am for what I did to you."

She crossed her arms across her chest. "I'm still fucking pissed at you."

He nodded. "I know."

"Peter, you're not the only one that was feeling things, okay? What we did...that _meant_ something to me."

"Yeah," he croaked out.

"I don't just mean that last night," she continued. "You were _there_ for me this summer. When no one else was. And then you just weren't. And I still..." She cut herself off and looked to the side. "I still needed someone, okay? Maybe more than ever."

Peter couldn't trust himself to speak.

She uncrossed her arms and took a deep breath. "But...thank you for telling me. It puts some pretty nasty demons to bed."

He looked up at her and gave her a sad smile. "I'm really sorry for how I handled this MJ. I'm so sorry I hurt you." She only nodded back at him. She was still stiff, her face set with anger. Only now did he realize he was standing there in only his briefs. He felt absurd. "I'll leave now," he said, and bent to gather his suit.

"I'm not sure if that glue's going to hold," she said, but that softness hadn't returned to her voice. He feared that he'd never hear it again. But it was what it was. She didn't owe him anything.

He stepped into his suit. "That's fine," he said, and fitted it over her shoulders. He tightened the suit, and stretched a little to test out the wound. "Ned can touch it up if it tears back open. I can tell I shouldn't be here anymore."

She didn't correct him. He gave her one last apologetic smile, and put his mask back on.

"Goodbye MJ," he said, and wondered as his heart settled somewhere in his large intestine if this would be the last real interaction they'd ever have.

-0-0-0-

During the first couple of days, Michelle found it impossible to think of Spider-Man without a burning fury coursing through her. The lies, the way he'd so casually ghosted her without a word, and then the gall to show up with a nasty wound so she had no choice but to sit there and listen to his rambling apology and poor explanation. Oh yeah, and reveal that he was fucking Peter Parker all along!

Not _fucking_ Peter Parker of course. But that he was actually Peter Parker. And sure, a part of her was upset with herself for having it right, and then ignoring all of the evidence when she thought she'd been wrong. But mostly, she was just angry at him for the facade.

He'd even been texting her all along! She imagined him in his room, typing out words that had given her mild comfort at the time. All the while avoiding hanging out with her. Well, now she knew why, the ass-hole. He was the one causing the pain in the first place!

They were a rough two days, mostly because all she wanted to feel was that fury. But little snippets of his apology and explanation kept flitting into her mind, no matter how quickly she tried to bat them away.

_MJ, the last girl I fell in love with died because I did._

She could only ignore the thought for so long. It seemed so contradictory to be so angry at someone, and feel so sorry for them. But Peter...he'd had a hard life. She'd called his feelings deterministic, but as a couple days turned into a week, she had to admit that an orphan who lost his parents and his uncle and his girlfriend carried a baggage with him that she couldn't relate to.

Of course, she'd had a mom who left her. _She_ had baggage, too. And what Peter did with his pain directly triggered hers. It wasn't fair for her to be the bigger person here.

She didn't sleep well. And at some point, it stopped being about the endless curses attached to Peter's name running through her head, and more about the circles she talked herself in when she tried to lay down.

_I'm here because I hurt you, and I need you to hurt a little less._

As a week turned into two, she acknowledged the difference between Peter and her mom. Peter came back. Peter knew what he'd done was wrong, and did what little he could to make it right.

He didn't make it right. He couldn't. But he'd done the thing he was so terrified of, and revealed his whole self to her. Because at the end of the day, he was always going to put her first, even if he took a horribly misguided, roundabout way to get there.

And she thought of the late night text messages from Peter again. The one way he'd known how to help given the outrageous restrictions he'd put on himself. And after those weeks of reflection, his messages seemed less cruel, and more kind.

She remembered who he was outside of her bubble. He was a _hero_. He was the _amazing_ Spider-Man. He didn't gain that reputation for nothing, even if there had been blips on his journey to becoming that hero.

She thought of every one of their interactions over the months, the signs of his fears and hesitations so blatant in hindsight. It made her understand him and simultaneously grow more and more frustrated with him each day. And she couldn't live with the tearing inside of her. Her studies were being affected as much or more than the loneliness had done when he'd left.

The first three weeks of ghosting had been hard on her. Insecurities and doubting her self-worth plagued her in ways they hadn't since high school. But the three weeks after Peter came to visit her were even harder. And ultimately, that realization prompted her decision. So, one evening when she wasn't working, she took a walk. She found herself at Peter and Ned's apartment, pacing outside their door in the hallway.

She wasn't sure how much time passed as she tried to find the words. Tried to prepare herself, because she _still_ wasn't sure how she'd react when she saw him. But she never completed organizing her thoughts, because the door swung open mid-pace.

"Holy shit, MJ," Peter said, standing in the doorway, stupid look on his face. A face that looked like it had seen better days. He had bags under his eyes, his hair was longer than usual and unkempt. When she didn't respond, he frowned. "Are you...are you here for Ned? Because he's not here."

She hadn't been sure how she'd react to seeing him. But the lack of fury and hatred was encouraging. "No...I'm here to talk to you."

"Oh," he said. "Do you want to come in?"

She bit her bottom lip. Maybe she wasn't ready for this. "Were you going out?"

He shrugged and stepped to the side. "Haven't eaten yet—thought I'd go grab a slice. It can wait."

She took a deep breath, and stepped into his apartment. He closed the door behind her. "Can I get you something?" he asked. "I don't have any matcha, but I've got some green tea if—"

"I'm still mad at you," MJ cut him off, because she did not need reminding right now that he remembered what teas she liked best. She turned to face him, and her look pinned him to his door. She was grateful he stood between her and her exit. Maybe that would force her to say what she wanted to.

He gave her a half-smile. "That seems like a step up from 'fucking pissed'."

She snorted. "It is." She breathed in through her nose. "I'm still mad, but...I forgive you, Peter."

His eyes widened. "MJ...I don't deserve your forgiveness."

She shrugged. "Maybe not. But it's not about what you deserve. It's about me wanting to move on."

His face fell, and Michelle's heart twisted at the sight. Even if the smallest part of her found a perverse satisfaction in it, it wasn't her intent to make him feel that blow. Even if he looked more resigned than surprised at her words. "Right," he said weakly, looking at his shoes.

"And I don't want whatever relationship we have," Michelle continued, "To carry the weight of what you did."

"Relationship?" Peter asked, eyes snapping up to hers again.

"So," she continued, heart racing. "I need to know that it's in the past, Peter."

He shook his head. "I don't know what you mean."

"If you and I start hanging out again, I need to know you're not going to bail again."

"Hanging out?" Peter parroted. It seemed he couldn't quite understand that part of her visit.

She huffed. "I'm still mad, Pete. But I still miss you, too." He looked at her with those puppy-dog eyes. That earnestness that she'd always associated with Peter. "I miss your dumb jokes, and I miss destroying you at Mario Kart. I miss holding your hand, and you talking to me. And I miss you coming by the store. I miss the daily reminder that you've got my back. But Peter, I need to _know_ you've got my back."

"MJ," he started, hands waving desperately in front of him. "I miss you too. More than I thought I would—more than I thought possible. But...I don't think I can have your back and not want more." He cringed. "That sounded weird. My point is that I love having you as a friend. But that's never going to be enough for me anymore."

MJ's breath quickened. "And if we were more?" she asked. "Could I trust you then?"

He took a long time to consider. And she appreciated the time. It meant he was thinking.

"I'm never going to lie to you again, Michelle," he said. "So I can't tell you I won't spiral again. Right this second? I feel like I can answer yes. But what happens the first time you're in danger? What happens when I think I'm going to lose you?"

Michelle nodded and tried to fight back the churn in her stomach. She stepped closer to him. "Would you ever break a promise to me Peter?"

"Never again," he whispered.

"Then make me a promise." She grabbed his hands in hers. "Tell me right now that when those feelings come; when you're scared; when you want to run. Promise me that instead of doing that, you'll talk to me. That we'll work through it _together_. Like adults. Like partners."

He looked at her in awe. "How can you trust me to keep that promise? When I've proven how unreliable my feelings are."

"Peter, your feelings aren't what scare me. You've been through hell. You're entitled to those feelings. What scares me is you acting on them without thinking, like a dumbass. And so I'm asking you to think now. To decide now. To promise me."

He swallowed. "You're amazing, you know that?" He gave her a smile, then. A real, beautiful smile that almost seemed to wipe the bags from under his eyes, remove the worry-lines etched into his forehead. "If you can do this," he said with shake of his head, like he was still in disbelief over her presence. "Then I can promise. I promise, MJ. Whatever comes our way, we face it together. No matter what, I talk to you first."

She released his hands, only to wring her own. "Okay," she whispered. "Yeah, okay."

He breathed out a laugh. He watched her tentatively. "So...uh, what now?"

She honestly hadn't gotten that far in her thinking. She just knew she wanted Peter in her life. How it evolved from here? That was not something she'd really entertained.

"Maybe we just take things slow?" she asked, and her voice sounded odd to her. "I don't know...try to do this thing like normal people?"

He smirked. "You know I don't really do 'normal', right?" The good-natured reminder would have sounded conceited or argumentative just yesterday. It would have pissed her off. But today she smiled. Because somewhere in the last six weeks, Peter had made her forget who he was. But she remembered now. And so did he. And if anything so simple could prove to her she was ready to move on, it was that.

Peter continued, "I _was_ about to go grab a bite. Do you want to go out wi—"

Michelle interrupted him with a hurried kiss.

"And you kissed me," he mumbled. And shook his head in confusion. "What happened to taking things slow?"

"I've liked you for over six years, Parker," she said. "That seems slow enough."

His eyes lit up as he laughed. "Sound enough logic for me," he said, and then uncertainly bobbed forward to give her a second chaste kiss.

After they separated again, it took Michelle about 2.4 seconds to decide on the best way to rid herself of all remaining anger she had for Peter Parker and Spider-Man. She pushed him up against his door and pressed her lips hard against his.

"Mmphh," Peter groaned into her mouth, and his hands wrapped snugly around her. She slid her tongue into his mouth and pressed her entire body against his. Peter smiled against her lips, so she bit his lower lip.

"So the 'take it slow' thing really was just a lie," he laughed between kisses, growing increasingly frantic.

She fisted his shirt at his chest. "We already covered that, Parker. Are you upset?"

He shook his head before dragging his lips and tongue to her neck. Up to her ear. "I just want to be clear about what it is you want." He nipped at her earlobe. She trembled against him.

"I want you to fuck me," she told him in no uncertain terms. "And then I want you to take me to dinner."

His hand tightened around her waist and he shuddered against her. "Yeah," he breathed into her ear. "Yeah, that sounds like a good plan."

He lifted her to his hips, and she wrapped her legs around him before bending down to capture him in another kiss. He moved easily through his apartment without ever breaking contact with her lips to look at where he was going, and for the first time she realized Peter's Spider powers wouldn't just be used swinging through buildings and punching bad guys. He had a grace and surety to him that thrilled her. A confidence with his body and movements that she couldn't wait to be used on her.

They found their way into his room, and Peter kicked the door shut behind them.

He set her down on the bed, and settled between her legs. His arms tucked around her back, one hand snaking up to cup the back of her head. He had a way of putting the _exact_ right amount of pressure against her. Then he kissed her, deep and full, and Michelle's head swam as he consumed her.

He pulled back after a few moments, his eyes glinting with light. "Sometimes when I'm out swinging, I take really stupid selfies."

Michelle blinked several times, _sure_ that she didn't hear his non-sequitur correctly. "You...you _what_ , Peter?"

He chuckled, the light in his eye growing brighter. He sat up and pulled at his shirt. "I just," he started when he shirt came off and Michelle could truly admire his body for the first time. "I was so scared to tell you about me—all of me—and now that I have, I want you to know _everything_."

His grin was contagious and she smiled back at him. She leaned forward to kiss him again. "It's embarrassing and stupid," he said when she leaned back. "But I have a crazy number of Spidey-selfies."

Then he leaned back down and peppered kisses to her neck. Michelle couldn't decide if she was turned on or exasperated by his behavior. It was both. Definitely both. She ran her hands over his back, letting the feel of his skin wash over her.

"I dated a really rich guy at Harvard," she admitted.

He leaned back again, a look of surprise on his face. No judgment, really. Just surprise. "Really?" he asked. "A gold-digger, huh?"

She laughed at his obvious joke. "Yeah, I was really successful too, if you couldn't tell by my part-time job."

" _Joe's_ is the best," he said, and he dipped to her collarbone while his hand found the hem of her shirt. "Just the right amount of crime to bring your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man around."

Her stomach flipped as his hand ran over her bare skin. She felt his arousal between her legs, and it added to hers.

"Never thought I'd be grateful for a stick-up," Michelle said.

"You'll be grateful for tonight's," Peter murmured into her skin between kisses and licks, and she hit him for his terrible joke. He only chuckled in return, and started grinding against her. His erection pressed against her center just as he sucked on her pulse point, and the jolt of pleasure caused her to dig her nails into his back.

He hissed, and she froze. "Fuck, Peter, did I just scratch your knife wound?"

He shook his head, still buried in her neck. "No, I healed from that over two weeks ago." He lifted his head up to look at her. The light of humor was gone from his eyes, now blown with lust. "I just love the feel of your nails," he said in a low voice. "I want proof of you on me."

Heat swept through Michelle, and she dragged her nails down his back. His eyelids fluttered. "Too many clothes," he said when her hands reached his pants. Michelle couldn't agree more.

They made quick work of them—clearly the time for silly confessions was being put on hold. He sat up to pull at his belt while she lifted her shirt over her head. He got distracted from his jeans button and stared at her for a long moment until she cleared her throat and nodded at his pants. "Right," he said, eyes quickly darting up and down her body once more before standing to pull off his jeans.

Still on the bed, MJ just got the button of her pants undone when Peter grabbed them by the legs and tugged. She slid and shimmied and then they were off, and Peter was staring again.

Michelle hadn't necessarily thought the night would take them here, but she was glad to have worn matching bra and panties. And by the look of it, Peter approved. "Fuck, Michelle, you are so beautiful." He hit his knees at the foot of the bed. She sat up slightly on her elbows to watch him look at her. "Let me worship you."

Yes. That was acceptable.

She must have vigorously nodded her assent, because he pulled her leg over his shoulder and bent down to kiss her through her panties. She dropped from her elbows to her back and moaned at the ceiling. If they weren't already soaked with her desire for him, they were now. He opened his mouth, pressing lips and tongue to her, rubbing and sucking through her underwear. The feel of her fabric against her was great, but she wanted _him_.

"Take...take them off," she managed to say as she squirmed on his bedspread. He obeyed immediately before bringing his mouth right back to her center.

"Taste so good," he said into her, and the rumble of his voice went all the way up her spine. She buried her hands in his hair and dug her nails into his scalp. Michelle learned very quickly that Peter's mouth was good for more than lame quips and a winning smile.

He pressed a finger inside of her, and even though he'd already done this once before, Michelle was in awe at his perfect awareness of her every need. A flick of his tongue just when she'd been about to ask him to touch her clit, a curl of his finger _right_ before she was going to beg for it, and then he was sucking her before she even knew that's what she needed. She'd need to ask him if this awareness was a part of his Spidey Sense. But later. Much later.

She fell apart with a gasp, rolling her hips into him and crying out his name. His finger was persistent, prolonging her orgasm and matching the waves of pleasure that wracked her body.

"Oh my god, Michelle, you are amazing," he whispered, and she opened her eyes to see him staring at her face from between her legs.

"Get a condom," she commanded. He looked almost startled.

"Are you...are you sure?"

She rolled her eyes. "Peter, if you're not inside me in the next ten seconds, I'll make you do that again."

He frowned. "I'm not seeing the downside here."

She pushed at his chest with her foot and grinned. "Hurry."

He all but leaped over the corner of the bed to get to his nightstand. She watched him drop his briefs, and found an ass—pasty white as it was—that she could appreciate. He tore open the condom package, and moved to put it on.

"Wait," she said. "Let me."

He turned to her. "My ten seconds will run out," he complained with a grin.

She didn't think that merited a response. And she was distracted by him, hard with a bead of liquid at the tip. All from going down on _her_.

She shifted on the bed so she could reach over and take him in her hand. He groaned, his smile dropped, and he stepped forward to kneel on the edge of the bed. She stroked him slowly and brushed her thumb over the head of his penis. His breathing stuttered, and she tore her gaze away to look at his face.

His eyes were closed, and he almost swayed with her. His free hand carded through her hair. Her position—leaning awkwardly on one elbow, stretched across the bed—wasn't sustainable, no matter how much she enjoyed this. So she climbed to her knees, still stroking him, and caught his lips in another kiss. She could still taste herself on his lips, and the heat that had simply been smoldering in her stomach reignited.

He undid her bra, and they were completely bare at last. He pressed against her, his hard chest to her breasts, and kissed her again, deeper.

"Condom," she whispered into his mouth, and their hands found each other so he could hand it off. With hands that didn't seem to work quite right, she rolled it on to him, and stroked him a few more times for good measure. "Can you...on your back?" she asked.

He nodded sharply, and they tumbled their way to the middle of bed where she straddled him. He groaned as she rubbed against him. His hands ran up her thighs, and he stared at her in wonder. "Let me inside," he whispered. "MJ I wanna feel you around me."

She lifted herself up, guided him to her, and sank down on him. She leaned forward, hands on his chest. The stretch of him felt so good. "Peter," she groaned.

"So hot," he gasped. "And tight, _fuck!_ " She felt his rapid breaths with her hands as his chest expanded and contracted. She dug her nails into his skin again. His hands covered hers, and he stared right into her eyes.

Her body adjusted to him and she felt an intense need to _move_. And as she did, he thanked her. Over and over again, he thanked her. She wasn't sure what for. For coming over tonight? For forgiving him? For sitting on his cock and riding him until her legs grew tired?

It didn't matter though, as he thrust into her to meet her in a passionate rhythm. As his gratitude mixed with praise and further words of worship that she might find cheesy in retrospect but only made her hotter and closer and _closer_. His hand found her clit again, like he knew.

"Peter," she whimpered. "I'm so close."

In a move that shocked her, he flipped them over. Then she was on her back, and he on his knees between her legs. Normally, this late in the game, changing up what was working so well would irk her, but he managed to keep them perfectly connected, and his hands gripped her hips and he thrust into her, hitting deep inside of her over and over again. And she was right back, so close.

She stared at him, sweat glistening off of stupid abs and pecs that she couldn't wait to spend hours tracing as they lay in bed together. Curly hair flopping over his eyes as he struggled to watch her with eyes blown and frantic and _oh_ he was close too.

"I'm gonna..." he warned, and his thrusts grew erratic, harder and faster. His fingers found her clit again, but his precision was gone—lost in his own ecstasy. And it was even better. Her back arched off the bed and she cried out. Her second climax rushed over her, and it was incomparable, with Peter deep inside her, so close himself.

He gave a few more staggered thrusts, before she felt him release and tumble after her, calling out her name and falling forward onto her.

She wrapped her arms around him and held him close while they took deep, steadying breaths. He eventually rolled off of her, and she sighed at the lost weight on her and in her. He tied off the condom and tossed it easily across the room into a trash bin. She'd have to get used to him being good at random shit like that. He rolled back towards her, a sappy smile on his lips. "I'm really glad we decided to take it slow," he said.

"Shut up," she smiled back at him.

"So, you mentioned me taking you to dinner?" he said, his hand resting on her bare stomach. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

"I mean..." she started, and caught his eye. "I'm not _that_ hungry."

He raised an amused eyebrow. "You could wait a little while, is what you're saying."

"I'm _saying_ ," she said, and brought her hand to his hair to card through those absurdly adorable curls of his. "That if we left in an hour instead of right this second, I'd be fine."

"Mmhmm," he hummed, and kissed her softly on the corner of her lips. His hand ran up her chest, between her breasts, and he lay it flat over her beating heart. "Maybe we could just grab a quick snack down the street. Some Snickers and Reese's at _Joe's_ maybe."

She smiled at their silly origins. "Is this your way of telling me you're going to need a little while before round two?"

He lifted himself up on his elbow, and stared at her. His playful expression dropped. "No...I'm really just trying to wrap my head around what this night turned into, and bringing up _Joe's_ is my poor attempt at trying to understand."

"You saved my life," Michelle said, and her heart pounded. "And then I spent the next two months falling in love with you." She paused, and Peter's eyes grew regretful at what happened after those two months. She pressed a finger to his lips where another apology was forming. "And tonight you promised me that we're in this together."

His eyes crinkled with his smile, and he bent down to kiss her. Moments later, she felt him hardening against her hip.

"Oh," she said, pleasantly surprised. "You weren't kidding about not needing time."

He smirked into her lips and kissed her again. "Maybe another perk of the super powers?" he asked rhetorically.

Michelle hummed as he cupped her breast and a thrill ran through her. "Oh, now that is convenient."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take 2 for this fandom was yet another delight! Y'all are incredible. Most of you were pissed at Peter after the last chapter. I don't blame you. Hopefully it all worked out for you. 
> 
> Now, in case you were wondering: yes, I have seen my identity-porn, love-triangle-with-themselves, story structure habits and no, I'm not sorry about it. I'll probably do it again at some point. That said, the next couple fics I have bouncing around in my head are a little different.


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